


Parabola

by Ennead



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-23
Updated: 2010-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-24 09:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 29,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ennead/pseuds/Ennead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nathan grows curious about the man who guards his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written after Season 2 ended and before Season 3 aired. It is intended to be set some time before the events of the Season 2 finale, for any difference that that may make. 
> 
> I do not own Metalocalypse and make no profit from my fan work.

Ever since the night Charles had gone out and gotten sloppy with them, Nathan had found himself curious about the man who ran his business. He rarely displayed emotion beyond concern and annoyance, but he obviously had emotions. No matter how they might tease the guy for it, they knew - or Nathan did, he wasn't sure how smart Murderface was - that he was a human being. That night had thrown it into sharp relief, and he realized he knew astonishingly little about Ofdensen. The man lived in the same house, for fuck's sake. Why was he such a mystery?

Setting out to resolve this once he was stubborn enough, Nathan pounded on the door of Charles' office before letting himself in anyway. The CFO looked up with an expression of mild surprise.

"Nathan. Can I help you with something?"

He slumped down on the couch by the wall, making himself comfortable before fixing Ofdensen with a somewhat stony gaze. "Why don't we. You know. Know you?"

Charles frowned. "I don't follow."

"You're our manager. Lawyer. Guy. You live here. Always have. We don't know anything about you though. You never talk to us. We talk to you but you don't talk. Back. Hm."

"Why do you care?"

Suddenly, Nathan felt as if he was the one on the spot. The way Charles asked him that, it was as if he expected him not to care. And it was true... he supposed until now he'd never expressed a whole lot of interest in the manager's life or interests or feelings. But hell, he was part of Dethklok too, in a not-music kind of way, Nathan figured. There was no reason for him to be...

It struck him what was bothering him, then. 

"Aren't you lonely?"

For a few moments, Charles was genuinely speechless, and it showed on his face. Nathan wondered if he had fucked up somehow. He wasn't supposed to care about the guys, but they never said they couldn't care about Ofdensen. He didn't make the music, it was okay to care about him. Dethklok would still be brutal.

"That... I... What brings this up, Nathan?" Charles said inadequately, struggling and failing to appear as if he was unaffected.

"We had a lot of, yknow, fun that night when you went and got drunk with us. Figured you don't ever do that. I don't see people here. Seems like all you do is work. For us. That's not cool. Even Murderface knows you have to, what the fuck is it..." he thought briefly. "Take it easy, you know. Like that shitty song he made. He knows, and he doesn't know fucking anything. So you must know that too."

There wasn't a candy coating to what Nathan was saying, and Charles appreciated that. It wasn't comfortable, though, being suddenly cared about after quite some time as the robot butler of Mordhaus. He'd figured, that night as an exception, that they saw him only that way. They certainly didn't demonstrate anything else... until now.

"I don't really have much time for 'taking it easy', you see. I have a lot of work that needs doing on a daily basis. I don't have time to be happy."

The second he said it, he regretted it. He had not intended to phrase it that way, though it was the bald truth. Charles liked to see the boys happy, but he himself rarely had moments of happiness all to himself. He was... too busy to be happy, as he said. The reality of that was heavier as he heard it aloud, and he sagged slightly in his chair. Had Nathan not been staring intently at him, he would not have noticed the change in the man's posture - but he did. 

"That's bullshit."

"I--"

"You're an all right guy, Charles," Nathan said plainly, shrugging at him as if he didn't understand what the problem was. "Why the fuck don't you think you should be happy?"

"I don't... it's not that I don't think I should be, it's that I don't have the time--"

The singer cut him off, frowning with the concentration it took to explain his thoughts properly. 

"I'm not stupid. I sound stupid but I'm not. You said you don't... have time. To be happy. But you make time for everything, you organize things. That means you won't, yknow, make it. Make time for it. You don't think it's a... priority."

He glanced at Charles with a strange look on his face. "I think it's a priority."

Ofdensen had no idea what to say. 

"How about, you focus on working, and I'll just fucking cut in when I please and decide you're going to enjoy yourself," he continued more brightly, not really sounding as if Charles had an option. "You work for me, technically, so that's what we're gonna do."

"That's not--"

"Shut up, Ofdensen," Nathan said rather more fondly than he meant to, wondering why that was. "I'm going to go fuck around. And then later you're gonna fuck around too."

The massive lead singer paused at the door, and shot the stunned Charles another odd look. 

"You're not a robot, even if you think you are."

Then he was gone, and the office felt very empty. 

*********

Nathan was chilling in the hot tub with a cold beer, feeling quite good about himself after the talk with Ofdensen. The guy hadn't really gotten a chance to argue with him, which worked out because he was shitty at talking and Charles was smarter than him. The only thing that stuck in his head like a seed between his teeth was what the manager had said before Nathan took over the discussion.

I don't have time to be happy.

What a fucking terrible way to live, Nathan thought. Was that seriously how Ofdensen spent his days? Hell, Nathan made sure he spent as much of his time as possible being happy, even if it delayed albums or caused undue damage to personal property not belonging to him. You only got one life, as far as he knew, and why the fuck not spend it enjoying yourself? 

He felt sad for the CFO, remembering how he'd shrunk in realization when the words left his lips. It couldn't feel good, saying that, knowing it. Charles was a smart man, there was no way he wasn't miserable knowing how lonely he was. He had to be aware of it. Nathan frowned unhappily at this thought.

"Whats you is sads abouts, Nat'an?" Toki interrupted his thoughts, dropping happily into the water next to him. "Yous not look so goods."

"I talked to. Uh." he wondered if he should tell the other guys about his quest to make Ofdensen's life suck less. It was pretty unmetal, but... no, he shouldn't say anything. They'd only fuck it up. Toki meant well but he was kind of bad at keeping secrets. Skwisgaar didn't give two fucks about three fucks and Murderface was purposefully malicious. Pickles... well, Pickles might actually be okay. He'd think about it. Nathan realized Toki was looking at him expectantly and shrugged.

"Just fuckin fans and stuff. You know."

"Ah yeahs. I reallies hates dem fans," Toki said offhandedly, reclining in the tub and closing his eyes. He had a candy headache again. 

Nathan rose suddenly from the water, drying himself off and tugging on his pants. He wanted time to think, and the hot tub was not a place where a guy could be left alone with his thoughts. Already processing, he padded off to his room to coordinate what was going on inside his mind. 

This was going to take time. 

*********

Charles retreated from his office earlier than usual, phone calls and paperwork mercifully light that day. He slipped back into his private quarters, unreasonably exhausted.

Maybe Nathan was right. No, he knew Nathan was right. It wasn't as if he hadn't been aware of his own loneliness, of the monotony of his life despite near death experiences and band antics. He didn't have any friends, and he was a grown man. He spent every day, every waking moment, working. The suit felt hot all of a sudden, and he struggled out of it irritably. 

Dressed only in his briefs and undershirt, he stretched out on his couch and stared at the ceiling. Though it was full of his possessions, he spent little time in the roomy quarters set aside for him. The office was always where they could find him, and was often where he fell asleep with his face pressed to papers and wood, too tired to keep working. In that instant, he felt immeasurably small and alone. 

Nathan did care, though. This puzzled him as he thought about it, and he wondered why the hell the frontman had come to him in the first place. Why he had started considering Charles' feelings and whether or not he was lonely. It didn't seem like something which would typically cross Nathan's mind. 

That wasn't to say Nathan was exactly cruel or thoughtless; quite the opposite, actually. Charles knew that the singer was quite considerate at times, and even when he was being ridiculous, he usually did not mean any harm. Perhaps it was unreasonable to think that Nathan was beyond caring about someone else's feelings. He felt more sure of that as he thought about it.

Charles lost track of how long he lay there, watching the plaster, recounting his own life and seeing how much of it had been for himself. The answer was, barely any of it. His desire to get up waned, and he relaxed into the cushions a bit more, out of defeat rather than comfort.

Why did Nathan care more about his happiness than he himself did?

With that, the exhausted manager fell asleep, the feeling of cold loneliness encompassing him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathan and Charles go drinking together.

Some six hours later, Nathan emerged from his room more clear on his motives. He was by no means done asking himself questions, but hell, there was only so much a man could take before he just got sick of trying to figure things out. He needed a break, and bet himself he knew where to find someone else who needed one too.

He thumped on Charles' door insistently, but received no response. Walking in unbidden, as was the practice, he was surprised to find the office empty and lights turned off. Where would Charles have gone?

Nathan poked around, and spied a door in the corner he had not paid attention to in the past. Having assumed it was a closet before, he tried the knob and found it unlocked.

He also found that it led to Charles' apartment. 

"Hey?" he ventured, wandering a few steps inside. He felt very intrusive, but after their conversation earlier it seemed baffling that the manager would not be working as late as he normally did. He was genuinely concerned for Charles, and figured that he could be excused for trespassing in the name of ensuring his manager was okay.

It was then that Nathan discovered Charles asleep on the couch.

The singer stood paralyzed by the sight, unfamiliar with Charles in such a vulnerable and undressed state. He looked almost calm, though it seemed he had gone to sleep with something bothering him as a slight frown was bent on his face. Nathan watched him intently, but was unable to react quickly enough when Ofdensen rolled forcefully off the couch and onto the floor with a thump.

Charles groaned unhappily, the carpet unforgiving with such a sudden drop. Nathan got to his knees and peered over the manager, waving his hand in front of his face. "You okay?"

The smaller man opened his eyes slowly, blearily, registering a massive shape hovering above him and concerned sounds coming from it. "Nngh."

His eyes focused and brought Nathan into full view; his first thought was how close the man was to him. In his attempt to see if Charles was okay, Nathan had leaned over his body with one arm as a support, and hovered there still, looking at him. Still hazy, he peered up and felt very petite when compared to the bulk suspended above him. How odd it was, to feel small, when he was quite strong himself. 

Nathan's thoughts were no longer entirely on Charles' jarred state after falling off the sofa. He found himself curiously lost in the open expressions on the other man's face, not yet tucked away so soon after sleep. Charles' lips were slightly parted, eyes half closed, hair all messy and very unlike his normal steampressed image. He was at once a stranger, yet somehow still undeniably... Charles. 

They became simultaneously aware that a moment had occurred, and Nathan gave Charles a completely indecipherable look. It was almost pained, but not. Then, the large singer rose from above him and helped him to his feet, whatever had been in the air for those seconds passing as as if it had never come. Charles blinked. 

"You're in my apartment."

Oh yeah, Nathan thought. I am. "I thought you could use a break from work. Looks like you're having one."

"If you can call it that."

"Well, get dressed," he said, shrugging and pushing odd thoughts to the back of his head as he registered again how little clothing the other man had on. Seeing him in suits all the time... 

"Why?"

"Um. We're gonna go have fun?" he suggested. 

"But I already had my break, as you put it--"

"You didn't have fun, though. You slept on your own couch. Come on, put on whatever it is you wear outside of suits and come with me."

Charles cleared his throat. "I don't, ah... really wear much outside of suits. I have one pair of jeans that probably don't fit, and no shirts."

Nathan looked at him in disbelief. "Seriously?"

He shrugged. "When do I ever need other clothing? I work and then I sleep."

"Fuck it," the singer declared, and without hesitation tugged his own shirt over his head and pulled it onto Charles. Ofdensen sputtered but otherwise did not resist, and Nathan regarded his handiwork with amusement.

"You're little, Charles."

Charles sulked in the giant shirt, distantly aware that it was very warm and smelled incredible. Whatever expression he was making caused a giant grin to crack on Nathan's face, and he laughed, shoving the manager towards his bedroom. 

"Pants. Put them on and get back out here. No arguing."

Feeling, correctly, that he had no choice in the matter, Charles did as he was told. Nathan could easily carry him from the room, so cooperating was far more dignified, even if he did look like a five year old in adult's clothing. He quickly donned the jeans, noted their snugness, and decided against wearing them. He hadn't worn jeans this tight since his teen years. Slacks would have to do. 

When he emerged, the wide grin reappeared as well. Nathan clapped in amusement. 

"Precious," he mused, laughing at Charles' expression of contempt and leading him from the room. "Come on, let's go do whatever the fuck." 

After a quick detour to get a second shirt from Nathan's bedroom, they set off in the opposite direction. As they walked down the corridor to the garages, Charles cast a questioning look at the man walking beside him. Something struck him, and he had to ask.

"You're being really friendly. Moreso than I've seen you be with most people. What's the ah... why?"

Nathan shrugged, though it seemed he was keeping something from his voice.

"I dunno," he admitted cautiously. "I guess. I, uh. Was thinking about how you had to be pretty lonely for like a week before I came and talked to you. And I felt like I knew you a lot more even then. And then today I was thinking a lot afterwards. Guess I got ahead of myself. Pretty uh... what's the... word..."

He trailed off, and Charles smiled without entirely knowing why. 

"Presumptuous," Nathan exclaimed, snapping his fingers loudly. "Fuck, I can't ever... talk."

"I don't think you're stupid, you know," Charles commented, hands in his pockets 

"Huh?"

"You said you weren't stupid, earlier today. That you sounded stupid, but weren't. I've never thought you sounded stupid, I know you have trouble talking. You express yourself differently, that's all. I mean, look at the music you write. Not everyone is good with conversation, and if someone decides you're stupid because of that then..." an edge came into Charles' voice. "Well, then fuck them."

He surprised himself with that, not really sure where it had come from. He glanced at Nathan, who was smiling at him curiously. "Thanks, Charles."

'What a weird fucking day this has been,' Ofdensen thought. "Of course."

"You probably think I'm acting. Uh. Oddly."

"Well, yes, actually."

Nathan shrugged, as he often did. "It's hard to have fun around the guys sometimes. Murderface is a dick so you can't do shit with him. Skwisgaar doesn't do so well with English and he can be kind of a stuck up bitch sometimes anyway. Toki's pretty fun to hang out with and I think he's probably... like... smarter than he seems. It's just a what do you call it."

He glanced at Charles for filler. "Language barrier?"

"Yeah! That. Right. But he's still not so great because even though he's pretty smart I feel weird talking to him because I dunno how much of what I say he gets. More than Skwisgaar, but. Yeah. And then there's Pickles, he's cool but he's fucked up all the time so that's not really good."

"Nathan, you do drink a lot yourself, you know."

"Yeah, but I mean... Pickles. Seriously." Nathan shook his head and made a face. 

"Point," Charles laughed. 

"So yeah. I don't get to really always be..." he trailed off, and shrugged again.

"Get to be Nathan?"

"Sort of," he said. "I mean yeah I'm me, but not as me as I could be sometimes. Too much fuckin work to deal with around those guys."

They reached the garage, Ofdensen feeling quite unusual as the one Nathan had sought for company. It did seem to make sense in a very Nathan way, though.

"How long did you think about this? You're doing pretty well explaining it. Usually you don't speak so easily," he ventured, hoping he wouldn't offend him but doubting he would.

Again, that shrug. "A long time. It's easier to say things when I figure out what the fuck is going on before I say it. Like, singing. Singing is easy because I write the lyrics down first. So it's like that."

"That makes sense."

Nathan had been thinking about him for a 'long time'? 

"So you have this all figured out?"

Casually, Nathan responded without really knowing what he was saying for a moment.

"Not all of it." He snapped his mouth shut, and opened it again quickly. "Well, yeah. Yeah, all of it. Yes."

Charles raised an eyebrow, and decided not to push it. It was a miracle Nathan was speaking so easily about anything, even if it did still take him a while to get a few sentences out without pausing. "Do you trust the others?"

"Eeh," he said vaguely, opening the door of a random vehicle and getting in, gesturing for Charles to follow suit. "I mean yeah, I guess. But we're not supposed to give a shit about each other. Fuck with that and you get some pretty nice drama. I don't like dealing with that."

They rolled out, Charles feeling strangely but comfortably isolated in the car with Nathan and nobody else. He was still out of his element, and had no idea where Nathan figured on taking him or what they would do there. For all he knew, Nathan didn't know where he was going either. Maybe they were both winging it.

Charles was reminded of his first date as a teenager, and then reprimanded himself sharply for even comparing the two situations. This was not...

He shook his head, clearing it. Nathan laughed quietly as he drove.

"You think too much. I can see you doing it right now."

Nathan looked sideways at his manager, who looked so ruffled and almost awkward in the oversized shirt. He looked a bit younger - for all Nathan knew, he looked his real age - and as the man pushed his glasses up on his nose, huge shirtsleeves engulfing his arms, the frontman felt himself smiling again.

"Weird."

"Hm?"

Shrug, gesture. "You make me smile."

He hadn't really thought about his response, nor did he afterward. He'd done his share of deep thought for the day, returning to easy answers and not dwelling on shit he didn't care to think about. Charles, however, was not quite built that way, and he blinked widely at the honesty. The words didn't really mean anything - Charles himself could see Nathan smiling with his own eyes, it was hardly a secret - but somehow meant everything as well. He knew Nathan was prone, in most situations, to just answering honestly without a second thought, and tried not to make a scene about it. 

Why did he even care? Nathan could smile at whatever he wanted to, himself included. 

"You're thinking again."

"Er... yes. I do that." 

"Well fucking cut it out," he suggested, shoving Charles playfully in his seat. "We're going to a bar for a reason. Thinking isn't really what you do there."

The brief drive came to an end at a decently nice bar in Mordland, one Charles knew the boys visited fairly often. Nathan got out and watched Charles do the same, still amused by the giant shirt and the smaller man's discomfort. He held the door open for him as they went in, and nudged him in the direction of the deserted far end of the bar. 

"I should have expected a bar," Charles commented, sitting down. "Will you only be willing to spend time with me if I'm drunk?"

"You don't have to get sloppy again. I mean not tonight, eventually yeah, but not all the time. I just figured it's better'n the haus. Can't fuckin be there all the time. Besides, I can't spend all night pinning you down to stop you from crawling back to your paperwork."

A vivid recollection of earlier flashed through Charles' mind, the shape of Nathan's body over his own somehow intense for a second. He shook it off. 

They ordered drinks, making useless small talk and not really minding at all. Charles marveled at how much Nathan was talking; not much for a typical person, but a lot for Nathan. Still somewhat slowly, still cautious about certain words, but he had so much more to say than he typically seemed to. Charles commented on it.

"It's hard for me to talk, you know that. It's, uh. I don't know. I have things to say but I can't make words happen. Pretty much all the time. And if I think I have it, I just feel fuckin stupid because I screw it up and sound like I don't know what I'm saying. I'm just no good at talking really."

"You seem to be doing fine now," Charles offered, sipping at his drink. He hadn't a clue what it was, but it wasn't revolting and that's about all that mattered. 

"You're easy to talk to," accompanied by the signature shrug. 

Again Charles was caught off-guard by the honesty, but didn't let it show. 

"So, Charles," Nathan said, a mischievous edge in his voice that Charles had learned over the years to almost fear. "Why don't I ever see you with any women? Don't have time for that either?"

"Er," he supplied, using his drink as a vehicle for his procrastination. "Mm."

Charles was met with an expectant look. Fuck, he wasn't edging out of this one. 

"You're pretty much right. I don't have time for relationships. That aside, I couldn't just bring people back to the haus. Security risks, you know."

"Ah, come on, we bring groupies back all the time, surely you could get some time to yourself. You can't have been just, yknow... all these years..."

He trailed off as Charles gave him a very obvious look over the edge of his glass. Nathan gawked.

"Seriously?"

"This job entails a lot of sacrifice."

"Holy shit."

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes as Nathan pondered that. Charles, too, thought about the long years he'd spent without another person to touch of touch him back. He'd grown accustomed to it, though it had been maddening at first. He may have become a fearsome manager, a prized CFO, and a very dangerous man; but his life leading up to that point had been fairly typical. He'd grown up in an unremakrable town, attended college... he'd been a mostly normal young man. There were plenty of normal pleasures he'd given up to work for Dethklok, and over time he'd managed to deny he still wanted those things.

The price of success was high.

"Don't you miss it?"

"Oh, no," Charles said, very much lying. Nathan shot him a look which echoed his earlier sentiment of 'I'm not stupid,' and Charles blushed at the directness of it all. He heard Nathan mutter something into his glass under his breath, and raised an eyebrow. "What?"

It was Nathan's turn to be embarrassed, though for another reason. He wasn't aware he'd said anything aloud. What he'd been thinking, as Charles blushed uncharacteristically and sat there with ruffled hair and an oversized shirt, was 'Cute.' He'd never meant to say it aloud, mostly because that involved admitting the thought even existed. 

"Nothing."

"Hey, come on, what?"

"Nothing!"

Nathan's usual tongue-tied manner returned, frustrating him. He'd been so easily conversing with Charles, feeling so natural doing it. Now he felt awkward and strange. 

"Sorry, look, let's forget it," Charles urged him, feeling bad for obviously hitting some kind of nerve. It was difficult for him to read Nathan then, unusually so, but he had obviously done something wrong. The singer gladly returned to the previous subject of conversation, happy to be out of the spotlight. 

"So when did you last, uh... yknow..."

"A long time ago, let's just say that much," the manager muttered into is drink, almost bitter if he hadn't found it somewhat darkly funny. "A very long time ago."

"Damn."

Nathan's mind was working against him then, and he fell silent to better control the issue. He wished he was drunk, because then he would have something to blame it on, but as a practiced drinker and a massive man, it took far more than half a beer to get him anywhere close to drunk. It would take more, he figured, for him to come to terms with what was on his mind. He worked on pushing it to the back of his head and ignoring it. 

"Now you're the one thinking," Charles laughed, nudging him with his elbow. Nathan snapped out of it and grinned back at him. 

"Whatever it is, don't worry about it. You were right to make me come out here. Let's just... have fun."

For the first time in a long time, Charles relaxed of his own accord.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night winds down, and a secret is shared.

Somewhere during the night, the relaxation got out of control. He didn't pay attention to how many refills he got, or how many glasses he downed; his only guess was 'too many'. It was all he could manage to call a pair of Klokateers to retrieve them along with the car they'd taken there, before returning to Nathan at the bar to wait. The singer looked more sideways than Charles recalled him being.

"Car's coming."

"Cool."

Squinting at his half-full glass, Nathan downed the remainder of his beer and pushed it away. He'd had much more than the other man had, but he was also far larger; he was only marginally intoxicated. The effects on Charles were quite obvious, but welcome, since he was most definitely not tense or thinking about work any longer. However, he was spinning around on his barstool rather jovially, and this indicated he'd have a pretty sore head in the morning. Especially if he fell off.

"How much did you drink?" Nathan inquired, ready to catch his manager if he pitched off the stool.

"I dunno," he mused, pausing in his spinning to shrug lopsidedly. "More than a little, less than a lot."

Charles resumed spinning, in the opposite direction this time. Nathan resisted the urge to facepalm. "Good. Good."

What they'd set out to accomplish - or what Nathan had, rather - had only been touched upon. They'd spoken about a broad variety of things, but most of them only gave him Charles' opinion on outside matters. he wanted to know more about the man, himself. Just him. Not what he thought about this or that. Who gave a fuck, when it came down to it? But time with Charles was, one way or another, time with Charles - he was getting some quality time in, that was for sure. Did this make his manager feel cared for? 

He hoped so.

Nathan shot a sidelong glance at the man in question, wondering through the moderate haze of alcohol what was on his mind. He appeared to be watching the bartender inbetween half-spins in his stool. Grabbing his shoulder to halt the spinning, which was clearly making Charles dizzy, Nathan nodded towards the barkeep.

"Why do you keep looking at the bartender? Do you know him?"

Charles shook his head, a little harder than was necessary. "No no. No. I don't know... the guy. No."

"You're pretty wasted," Nathan observed. "Hmm."

"I was just... he looks like... a person I used to be acqu, er, acqu-- a person I used to know," Charles finished, having a little trouble with his vocabulary. "Someone I was familiar with."

"Friend?"

"Could say that."

Something about his responses gave Nathan pause. Charles was clearly very, very drunk; yet something of him still had the presence of mind not to actually answer the questions being asked. It was the first time it had happened all night. But he could tell that something was not being said.

Why?

Before he could ask, Charles' phone beeped discreetly. A fumbling moment passed before the manager was able to produce it from his pocket, but his reaction was jovial. "We can go home! The car is here. Let's go."

Nathan largely supported the other man out to the car, since Charles was having a marked difficulty walking in a straight line at a respectable angle. Veering off into the bushes, though, was something he could have accomplished easily, had the frontman not been there to get him into the vehicle. 

"And this is why I called the car," Charles said, quite aware of how difficult walking had been. 

"So," Nathan said as they began the brief drive back, "Are we done for the night?"

"If you want. This is your show, remember? You're making me take a break. It's up to you."

He mulled that over. "You should come back to my room and hang out more."

"Then I'll do that. I make no promises though, I may fall asleep on your floor."

Nathan couldn't help but smile at the idea of it. "Dignified CFO of Dethklok passes out on bedroom floor, is found covered in permanent marker drawings. News at ten."

"Don't draw on me," Charles warned, giving him a warning glance. "I'll get you."

"No promises."

They shared a grin. It had been a pretty good night, after all.

Charles supposed that what Nathan had said before was true; he was pretty wasted. He really hadn't intended to drink quite that much, but making casual, normal conversation with Nathan had made the time - and the drinks - fly by without him noticing. After a while, taking a gulp from his glass while making a pointed expression over the rim of it had become punctuation for certain kinds of sentences, and he'd forgotten they were even really drinking at all. It had all become so... comfortable.

He pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window, head swimming with a lack of control he was unaccustomed to. It was no good to try and compose himself; he knew it wouldn't work. No way around it, Charles was drunk. May as well make the best of it and continue to enjoy what remained of the night, right? Right.

"So how has this whole 'getting to know me' thing worked out for you, Nathan?" he asked once the car had pulled up, depositing them at the door. "Not as interesting as you thought I'd be, am I?"

"I dunno, I wouldn't say that," Nathan shrugged. "Besides, we just got started."

"I'm really not that fascinating."

"I don't mind if you're not."

Charles pondered that, but couldn't really get his head around it. Not in his state. 

"Here, come and sit the fuck down."

Nathan was holding his door open; were they at his room already? Boy, where did time go, Charles wondered. He went in and sat down near the head of the bed, crossing his legs and tucking his feet under his knees neatly. "Twenty questions, now?"

"Dunno. It seemed like you had something you weren't talking about."

"Did it."

"Yep."

There was a pregnant pause, which Charles broke. "You're not as drunk as me, are you?"

"Not even close."

"I see." He considered this. "Is that on purpose?"

"Not really. I just didn't get that drunk tonight. Didn't happen. I didn't plan it or anything."

"Hm."

Nathan eyed him from where he sat at the foot of his own enormous bed. "So what's the deal? With the, uh, bartender. I notice things."

"Nothing to tell you there, Nathan. I don't know the man."

"Come on. Don't act like I'm an idiot."

Reflecting upon the past day, Charles knew it would be unwise to behave as if Nathan was less perceptive than he was. It would not be appreciated by the frontman, and they had been doing so well that fucking it up over... this... it seemed negligent. 

"He just reminded me of an old boyfriend. It's really nothing, like I said."

He looked up from the view of his ankles and saw Nathan observing him very carefully. Nothing was being said, and this made Charles exceedingly nervous. 

"Huh." And then, "Boyfriend."

"Yes. Look, I separate business and pleasure..." Who was he kidding - what pleasure was there to separate anymore?- "...you boys never needed to know, so I never told you. It's not really a secret, it was just never relevant. That's all."

"Huh."

Ten minutes of complete silence passed while they both processed this. When Nathan next fixed his gaze on Charles, he noticed the man's chin was touching his chest. The poor guy had fallen asleep sitting up, he realized, after spending all night drinking and spinning in circles. 

Boyfriend.

Nathan thought about it. There was no reason Charles couldn't be gay, nothing that excluded it from being a possibility - yet he'd never considered it. And it was true, until recently they'd never pried enough into his personal life for it to really come up. It made sense for it to be kept from the band. Everything else was. 

Charles was gay.

It didn't seem like the massive revelation it felt like it should have been. Nathan felt as though he should have been shocked, but he was only mildly surprised. Had he suspected it, maybe in the background... no, he couldn't have. There was nothing for him to go on, nothing to fuel any suspicions. So why was he so... unmoved by it?

His thought process stopped about there. He couldn't even be bothered to consider it further. Charles was gay, and that was... new, but fine, and who gave a fuck anyway? Alcohol always made his mind ramble when it didn't need to. 

Nathan looked at the sleeping, slightly swaying form of the man in question. How he slept sitting up was a mystery, but he would probably eventually fall over. It was this that brought Nathan to push him gently onto his side, where he spilled like a drink all over the bed. A boneless sprawl was far preferable, if less dignified, than sleeping in a sitting position. Much better.

He realized Charles was still wearing his shirt. Not just wearing his shirt, but now sleeping in his bed. Hmm. Thoughts for later, perhaps, he decided. 

Or thoughts for now.

Something about Charles being awake, even drunk off his ass, made him tense up. His face, his shoulders, all of it had still been just a bit more solid than it needed to be before he fell asleep. Like underneath he was still thinking, still worrying, still working. Like the knowledge of being Charles was too much to bear without some measure of control. That didn't seem good. 

But there, asleep in the expanse of borrowed clothing, Charles finally looked entirely at peace. His face was so calm, so relaxed, that it very nearly didn't look like him. Nathan reached over and removed the skewed glasses from his manager's face, throwing them at the distant bedside table and watching them skitter across its surface. Especially without those - Charles looked so content. 

Nathan fell asleep watching him exist.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life at Mordhaus continues largely uninterrupted.

The dryness in the back of Charles' throat could be ignored no longer; he woke from a pleasant sleep into a less pleasant reality. God, had light always been this bright...? He opened his eyes all the way, looking around at where he was. Surprisingly, the view was not of his own bedroom or his office. Instead, he was in... oh. This was Nathan's bedroom. Hmm. 

He looked down at the bottom of the bed, and saw Nathan lying on his side, knees bent, sound asleep. One giant hand was outstretched in his direction, limp against the sheets, and Charles considered it. He was considering a lot of things, if briefly, but he chalked it up to how frazzled his mind was. There would be a shameful lack of productivity in his office that day, he could tell. 

Swearing lightly at the pounding in his head, Charles sat up and made his way to the door. He needed a drink - a real drink, not an alcoholic one - and he needed it immediately. Sleeping with his mouth open was a habit he never managed to break, and it always dried out his throat terribly in the night. He snuck cautiously out of the room, seeing nobody down the hall in the direction of the main room and the kitchen, and -- 

"Ahfdensen?"

Caught. Charles turned and saw Pickles coming from the other end of the hall. He gave his best innocent half-smile and tried to look professional.

"Pickles. Good morning."

"Whet were ya doin' in there?" the drummer asked, confused. "And whet's ep with yer clothes?"

"Ahhh... that is..."

It occurred to Charles that his appearance was quite damning of the fact that he'd had fun the previous night. He ran a hand through his hair and found it entirely loose and ruffled; the blurred lines around Pickles betrayed a lack of glasses, though he didn't know where they had gone, and then there was the fact that he was wearing Nathan's shirt. Quite obviously, since it was enormous. This probably did not look good, he reflected. 

"I'm getting a drink of water?" he supplied at last, well aware it answered none of the questions. 

"Yeeuh, but-"

"Walk with me, Pickles."

Shrugging, the drummer obeyed. They strolled in silence towards the kitchens, until Charles cleared his sore throat with a wince. "Nathan thinks I should have some fun in my life."

"Whet kinda fun?" Pickles asked, eyeing the manager's appearance. He wasn't stupid.

"Just normal fun. Honestly. He took me out drinking last night and I didn't have any casual clothes, that's why... this..." he plucked at the giant shirt. "And I had too much to drink again, we went back to his room to talk and I fell asleep there. That's really the end of the story. I promise."

"If ya say so, Chief. Jest be careful."

"Hm?"

"Don't steart somethin' ya ken't finish."

Charles raised an eyebrow at Pickles, wondering where this was coming from. Pickles spoke as if he knew which way Charles swung, but that was impossible. Wasn't it?

"Pickles, come out and say it, whatever it is."

The drummer grinned. "Come out is about right. Look Charlie, Ah'm nat stupid an' I notice things. Ya jest gat the vibe around ya. Besides, pretty sher I saw ya at one o' my old concerts suckin' face with another guy, an' it's nat my business an' I ain't tellin' ya I mind. Bet Ah'm tellin' ya I know men, so don' get tied epp in this. Yer a lonely dood. Don' let it, eh, yknoo. Cloud yer jedgement."

Charles gaped at him. "What?"

"Come ahn. Ya saw my old band. Is it that shockin' I'd know a thing'r two about spottin' a gay guy?"

"I... have to admit, no."

"There ya go. Ah'm jest sayin', I live with ya, and I notice. The other guys wouldn't know what ta look fer. Anyway..." Pickles shrugged. "Jest don't get yerself hurt, is all I'm sayin'."

"I'm just spending time with him," Charles argued. "I'm not gunning for a date, here."

"Ya say thet now. But ya jest wait. Yeh'll see."

And the drummer was off, walking back down the hall where they'd come from with a hop in his step. Charles looked after him in absolute bafflement. 

Goddamn Snakes 'n' Barrels. 

It was true, though, that he had been a fan of the band back in his youth. What shocked him was the Pickles recalled any details from those days with all the drugs and time that had passed. He couldn't deny, yes, he'd taken a fair few dates to see the band and had quite the time while they were there. Distantly he hoped Pickles did not recall what he had been wearing at the time; young Charles had been deplorably eighties. 

His mouth drier than ever, Charles fetched a glass of water from the kitchen and returned to the singer's bedroom quickly, intending to search for his glasses. When he got there, though, Nathan was awake and actually wearing the glasses in question, inspecting every object around him as though it were much further away. Charles coughed.

"You're kind of, uh. Blind." he said by way of explanation, taking off the thin frames and passing them to their owner. "Brutal."

"I can see just fine without them, honestly."

"I can't see fine with them," Nathan argued. 

This made Charles laugh into his water. "That's because they're not yours. You know how glasses work."

Nathan noticed a bead of water clinging to Charles' lower lip, thrown up by his sputtered laughter into the cup. Comfortable as he was, he didn't have the presence of mind to consider his next action before it happened; he reached out and smoothed the drop of liquid away from Charles' mouth with the pad of his thumb. He hadn't intended for it to mean anything - hadn't intended anything at all by doing it - but once it had happened it seemed much more significant. 

"Er..."

Overcome by the awkwardness of what had just occurred, Nathan stood and left Charles sitting alone... in his bedroom. He had thrown himself out of his own room. Fuck. Well, he couldn't just walk back in, he figured, so he set off to the kitchen to get food. Charles would forget about it.

Back in the bedroom, Charles was not forgetting about it. What baffled him was not quite the contact, but Nathan's subsequent embarrassment at it. Clearly the frontman had felt that what he'd done had been inappropriate - and yes, it had been very sudden and unexpected - which suggested... what, exactly? What went through Nathan's head after he'd touched Charles' lips that made him so uncomfortable? 

"Oh god," he muttered. "It's not me that Pickles needs to worry about..."

Pickles. That was it. He'd go talk to Pickles, and figure out what was going on that way. At the very least he should leave Nathan's room, so the man could come back to where he lived without having to deal with Charles. 

Maybe Pickles would have a cure for his hangover, too. 

But for all the problems Charles seemed to think Pickles could solve, the drummer was not in his room, and therefore not found. Unwilling to seek him out elsewhere, since this really was not something that needed to be examined further, Charles retreated to his quarters. He'd shower, he'd put on normal clothes, and he'd get the hell back to his job. His break was over, and perhaps it was for the best if it stayed that way.

 

*********

 

Pickles was not in his room because he was hanging out with the rest of the band. They afforded such great entertainment, how could he not? Watching TV and bickering, as usual, Murderface and Toki were arguing about the characters in some randow show the latter had been absorbed in before Pickles had even come into the room. It didn't appear to be relevant anymore, as far as he could tell, since the channel was now showing an infomercial and had been for some time. That wouldn't stop them, though.

"But Rose makes the Doctor happies! Dat's why he's does dis for hers. Is a loves t'ing!"

"Love, my assch. That's pretty gay." 

"Is not gay, dat's mens and mens togedders likes Captain Jacks. How's loves between ladies and mens gay, Moidaface? Yous not makes any sense! The Doctor ams brutal," Toki stressed. 

"It'sch juscht pusschy schtuff. Schacrifisching hisch schafety for schome girl. He schould be looking out for number one."

Nathan came in with a bowl of colourful cereal, seating himself on the floor behind where his bandmates floated in the hot tub and grunting a greeting to Pickles. He switched the channels idly as he muched his late breakfast, mostly tuning out Murderface's nasal bitching. You became accustomed to it, like a noisily malfunctioning air conditioner, he thought.

"Fagsch," Murderface dismissed, waving away whatever Toki had been saying about his show. Catching this, at least, Nathan smacked him on the back of his greasy head with one heavy hand. Murderface flinched. "Ow, what the fuck, Nathan?"

"Don't call people that."

"Whatever," he said, shrugging it off as the frontman being in a shitty mood. Pickles, however, raised an eyebrow at this. Had Charles let Nathan in on his little secret? It would seem that way... but it also seemed like more than Charles would be willing to divulge. He'd been shocked enough when the drummer had correctly guessed about it. Then again, they'd all seen a drunk CFO. He probably told Nathan a lot of things last night...

"Ya have a good time last night, Nathan?" he pried, seeing what kind of response he would get. The singer frowned, pausing as he ate, and then his face settled a little. 

"Yeah."

Well, so much for that; it barely counted as a response at all. "Why didn't ya invite us?"

"Uh. I dunno. You guys were... it was spur. Of the moment. Yknow. No planning."

"Wheres you gos last nights, Nathans?" Toki asked, looking hurt. "We's not goes anywheres! You coulds have taken us!"

"It was just. Toki, I... uh. Next time?" he ventured, trying to get the rhythm guitarist off his back and into a less pitiable mood. He didn't know how Pickles knew he'd been out, but he didn't really want to be interrogated about it. 

"Okays! We's gonna have a real good time. Yous lets me know."

"Where did you go anyway, dude?" Now Murderface was interested. Fuck, did it never end?

"Just out. I went out, to drink."

"Alone? That'sch schad, man."

Pickles held his tongue. Skwisgaar, however, looked up from his practising across the room to pass comment. "No. He goes out wit de butler. I sees dem leaving. Probablies have dull boringks time wit dat guy, no tanks you, I stays here."

"Wits Charleses? No fair! I likes him drunks, he's funny," Toki complained. "Yous shoulds have brings me."

Murderface gave him a strange look; or maybe it was just his face, Nathan amended. "You went drinking with our manager? That'sch weird."

"It's not weird!" Calm down, he thought irritably. "Look, get the fuck off my back. I took Charles out to get some drinks, just palling around, it doesn't fucking matter. Like you guys give a shit."

"'Charlesch'? Schincsche when do you call him Charlesch? Schincsche when do you pal around with him anyway?"

"Since whenever the fuck I want to, Murderface," Nathan snapped, standing up. He was tired of this bullshit. "I don't see anybody trying to spend time around you, maybe you should be more worried about that."

He turned on his heel and left, short fuse once again lit. All the questions had just made him feel too much like he was in a spotlight, even though they couldn't possibly know why he was so bothered by it. Hell, he didn't even really know. He just felt oversensitive on the whole subject, and that pissed him off even more. Nathan carried his cereal back to his room, recalling that he'd been reading before ever deciding to talk to Charles and begin this... situation. That's what he'd do; he'd read, and eat his damn breakfast, and then maybe go and make sure Charles wasn't working too hard. Fuck those guys, they could do whatever they wanted.

And so could he.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathan takes some time to think.

Nathan wasn't reading.

He'd finished his cereal, and picked up the book, fully intending to finish the whole damn thing before ever leaving his room. But after spending a good twenty minutes staring blankly at the same page, absorbing nothing on it, he put it down in frustration. He couldn't focus on anything with this thought lurking in the back of his head. It seemed he had no choice but to haul it out of the shadows and take a good, hard look at it.

It was a moment his brain had grabbed onto from earlier in the day, refusing to let go no matter how much he didn't want to think about it, compounded with other moments from the day before. They all grouped together, sticking like bits of lint to form a giant ball, a huge looming concept that Nathan felt he was unprepared to deal with. Frankly, that thought concerned him. 

He focused on it.

It was Charles' sleeping face from when he'd rolled off the couch, caught looking so unaware and so very human. It was the look on his face when Nathan's eyes met his shortly after, a moment that evaporated before either could be sure it was real at all. His rumpled expression upon being forced into Nathan's shirt, and the glint in his eye as he told a story over a glass of beer. The way he avoided Nathan's eyes when he explained that he was gay, obviously thinking he'd be judged - caring what Nathan thought. The way he fell asleep on a bed that wasn't his and looked so peaceful. And a drop of water...

Fuck. Too much, Nathan thought abruptly. The enormity of what it all added up to, what it all felt like to him, to someone not nearly as stupid as people thought he was... it was big. The whole thing was too big even for him. He felt like it was out of his hands - and this made him helpless to it. 

"This sucks," he muttered, propping his head in his hands. "Fuck."

The last thing he wanted to do was approach Charles on the subject. Well, that wasn't entirely true; he wanted to talk to him at length about it, or as at length as he discussed anything aloud. But he also wanted to run screaming from him when the idea of actually doing that surfaced, and so he resolved not to do it at all. He was enjoying getting to know Charles, and had hoped to continue doing it for longer than just two days. This... would ruin it. He couldn't let it happen.

It was so fucking hard to ignore, though! 

Nathan didn't 'connect' with anybody. He hadn't ever, really. it was difficult for him to do. So, when he'd found himself observing Charles, physically as it were, he hadn't made anything of it at first. There was just something curious about the man that made him want to look and look until there wasn't anything left to see but things he was intimately familiar with. When it occurred to him that it was unusual, that it was somewhat related to - though not the same as - the way he wanted to drink in the appearance of a beautiful woman, that was when he realized there was a problem. His manager wasn't supposed to summon the word "cute" to his lips, but he did. 

That was weird. That was something Nathan was wholly unprepared to handle. He wasn't even sure he wanted to handle it. Flustered, he decided a shower was probably in order; it would calm his nerves a bit. Besides, he did some of his best thinking in the shower. 

Before he could actually go into his bathroom and do that, a knock came at the door. He answered it warily, wondering if Murderface or Toki had come to fucking bother him again. To his surprise, it was actually Charles; dressed once again in one of his numerous identical suits and looking like the normal CFO he was familiar with - or unfamiliar with, as the case may be. 

"Hey."

"I thought you might want this back," Charles said, holding out a small bundle. "That's all."

He was gone before Nathan could even respond, which made the singer frown. Looking at the object he'd been given, he found it was one of his own shirts... oh. It was the shirt he'd made Charles wear the night before. Nathan inhaled a little before shutting the door, a smell of freshness lingering in the air where Charles had been standing. Apparently he was not the only one who had felt like a shower... damn, but that was a good smell, he thought. 

Returning to his initial task of cleaning himself, he went to the shower and fired it up to a decent temperature. He tossed the shirt on the counter, shedding the clothes he was wearing and leaving them on the floor in a heap. For some reason his eyes kept tracking back to the folded shirt, mentally connecting the item with the delicious smell Charles had left in the hallway and in his mind. Was that really coming from him, just because he bathed? Why had Nathan never noticed? It was ridiculous. He couldn't possibly walk around smelling that good, all the time. 

He relaxed, stepping under the hot water and wincing as it stung him a little. The initial discomfort was worth it; he liked his showers hot, as hot as he could stand them. It just helped him think better, and made him feel cleaner. Nathan realized he was looking at his shirt again, but not actually thinking about the object itself. He was thinking about Charles, and he didn't need to be doing that any more than he could help it. It would cause problems. 

In fact, it already was. 

Nathan glanced down at himself, embarrassed though he was alone. 'Come on now, really?' he thought, willing the half-erection to vanish and not be seen again in the company of thoughts like those. It was just the damn scent from the man, it lingered in his head like the smell of a food he desperately wanted to eat. Almost like it was still in the room with him, but it wasn't. 

'Even if it was,' he reminded himself, 'it's Charles. And Charles is a guy. Charles is also my friend. This is inappropriate.'

The thought itself was so very unlike himself, so very Charles-esque that he laughed the moment he had it. It was just like something the manager would have said. Inappropriate. Wasn't he supposed to disregard what was appropriate, anyway? He was a musician, it was sort of his job. 

Hmm.

The hot water wasn't helping him think. At all. In fact, it was only facilitating his lack of thought, the heavy mist in his brain that swirled only around the very concept of Charles. He wouldn't ever know, Nathan reasoned, if I thought about him like this. That I think about him like this. It's not like he can read my mind. 

You'd know, he reminded himself. You'd fucking know.

Nathan pushed the thought away, and brought back the earlier one. The one that was all Charles, in form and essence. Distantly he felt like he would regret doing this, but he had to try something to get his head clear. He couldn't think about anything with Charles on the forefront of his mind like this. Had to clear his head... it was really all the justification he needed, at that point, and he wrapped his hand around his cock. The voice in the back of his head disappeared. 

He wasn't focusing on any particular image. There were certain ones that were more vivid to him, that rose up in his mind as being more important, but there were many things going on. That scent was there, in his head, the culprit that started this whole new issue for him in the first place. Nathan incorporated the scent with a moment from the previous day; looming over his manager, feeling an odd moment pass. The way his lips had been parted as he looked up at Nathan, eyes lidded a bit more heavily than normal, but no less focused on him... 

Bracing his other arm against the shower wall, Nathan tried not to think about what he was actually doing. It wasn't hard. Nothing, then, was about how he actually touched himself, about how fast or how hard, or about how close he was. His whole head was a fog of Charles. It overwhelmed him with intensity, far more than he'd thought it would coming into it, and he let it take him. Why the fuck not, he thought distantly. Why the fuck not. 

He didn't think about Charles as he had been when returning the shirt, back in his suit and his polite, plastic demeanor. He wanted casual Charles, Charles in his clothes, or his bedclothes, or no clothes... fuck, what a thought. Nathan didn't let his brain go quite that far, still feeling edgy about it, even though without his bidding a million images were racing through his head. That grain of control was false, and he knew it, since the moment he'd thought it, he'd gone too far. There was too much emotion, too much sensation, for him to keep tabs on at that moment. He saw, in his head, Charles' face when he'd swiped away the speck of water from his lips, and remembered how soft that mouth had felt under his thumb. 

It was why he'd left the room at that moment, feeling so unsettled, and it came out then as he left his thoughts unguarded. Conjured visuals of Charles looking up at Nathan from between his knees, still with such a quizzical expression, and that same mouth...

That was all it took. Nathan came hard, feeling overwhelmingly relieved and guilty at the same time. The shower took away the evidence of what he'd done, but he still knew. Just as he'd warned himself before it had happened, just as he'd feared, he knew. 

Every time he looked at Charles after this, he would know. He would remember that he had done this.

"Oh, fuck."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles tries to get some work done.

Charles sat in his office, quietly signing and adjusting various forms of paperwork. It was tedious, as it always had been, but he didn't mind. His only problem was that it failed to occupy all of his attention, leaving his mind open to many trains of thought that were coming and going all the while.

It wasn't that he was unsure of how he felt. No, not at all. He had known himself for long enough that his own emotions were easy to recognize and interpret no matter how much he hid them. His emotions were unimportant, however. They always had been.

What mattered, then, was Nathan. Something was going on in the singer's head that Charles did not quite understand the process of. He had thought he'd known more about Nathan, thought that figuring him out in a time like this would be simpler, but... it wasn't. What mattered was that the man seemed to be growing attached to Charles in a very emotional way. He didn't dare to call it attraction, since that would be presumptuous, but let it just be said that something unsual was going on. Charles had never had the time, the luxury, of being able to have a deep emotional connection with someone - let alone to be in a relationship.

That was quite the assumption to make, he knew, but he entertained the thought. If Nathan came to that point, if he wanted that from Charles - laughable as it was - then he'd be unable to provide the frontman with the attention he would need. He'd forgotten how to do any of that. Nevermind what he might want, himself, or what he might require... it was Nathan he had to consider, and all he considered. 

Charles couldn't let him get pulled into this.

Pickles had told him not to start something he couldn't finish. That was all well and good, but he could definitely finish this. He had to, for Nathan's sake. He couldn't let himself overstep his boundaries, lest he do something that would damage their pending friendship. Nathan already knew more about him than anyone else in the band - he was undeniably Charles' only friend. A friend he had to stay, to stop himself from hurting Nathan. 

Sure, he was lonely. But he'd been lonely for a very long time. It wasn't practical to stop now.

Charles pushed aside the most recently finished document and cleared a space on his desk for his elbows, letting his head rest in his hands. He felt more worn out than he should have, even taking the previous night into consideration. They'd slept well into the afternoon and his workload had been mercifully light. Why was he so tired? Why was he so fucking tired?

He wished he had someone to delegate his responsibilities to, then. Why did he have to be the one to take care of it all? Who was taking care of him? Just as he thought of it, he banished the idea. That was what brought Nathan to his office in the first place. He'd wanted to manage his manager. 

It wasn't fair, he thought. Nathan came in with all his questions, and his good intentions, and his nice shoulders, and messed everything up. He had to be interested in me, had to care about me. I don't even care about me, why does he? It just complicated everything, it was all so simple before...

Simple and sad. Simple and lonely, in a worse than ever way. He'd have denied it aloud, but the job had been getting to him. Not just the job, but the life, the exact life he'd revealed to Nathan. The empty, miserable, no-time-for-himself life. Being familiar with his feelings made them easier to suppress and ignore, and that one had been brewing the longest. 

They were sacrifices made for success. Sacrifices he'd made to be where he was, to be who he was. Necessary ones.

Shitty ones.

He'd been a person, once. An interesting person. Someone who had friends, and told inside jokes with those friends. Someone who had a personality, and hobbies, and free time they actually spent doing things they enjoyed. What had happened to that person? Where was the Charles that Pickles had spotted at a concert all those years and years before, laughing and living it up and kissing boys and making the best of the time he had?

Charles looked around at his vast and luxurious office. It seemed foreign to him, and he wanted desperately to be anywhere else. He switched off his lamp and left the papers where they were, retreating through the connecting door that led to his rooms. They were his, even reserved as they were, and he needed to feel at home. 

Needed to feel like he even had a home.

Draping his jacket over the arm of the couch, Charles removed his tie and held it in his hands, looking at it but not really seeing it. He was nearly baffled by the way he was feeling, the way it had crept up on him through his earlier, unrelated thoughts. Had they really been unrelated, though, he wondered almost bitterly. Letting Nathan in had been a terrible mistake, obviously, since there he was undone and unraveled without the drive to even finish his work. Granted, it could be done later - or even the next day - as it was largely unimportant. The fans could wait, and most of the boring paperwork was generated by them attempting, and thanks to Charles, failing to sue the band. Fuck them, he thought angrily. They can wait. I'm busy being miserable in here. 

He felt angry for allowing his social condition, or lack thereof, to complicate things for Nathan. That had never been his intention. The man had wanted to get to know him, fine; there wasn't much to get to know. Not anymore. He hadn't asked for any of Charles' baggage to carry, or to have his emotions adjusted. These things were happening by themselves, though, and Charles felt powerless to stop them. Powerless was not something he was accustomed to being. 

Should he just talk to Nathan? No, that wouldn't go well. If Nathan wanted to talk, he'd talk, and pushing him to do so before that point was a bad idea, Charles knew. The look on his face when he'd left his room earlier had been one of absolute humiliation, and Charles had no desire to tamper with the singer until he was done coming to terms with, or more likely suppressing and ignoring, whatever it was that had made him feel that way inside. In a distant manner, Charles ran his own thumb over his bottom lip, recounting the event. 

It had been such an odd little moment, tender and familiar, and above all unexpected. He truly had no idea what to make of it. Nathan's reaction had been immediate, giving Charles no time to respond to what had happened. How would he have responded, anyway? He had no idea. 

Frustrated, and still as lost and lonely as he had been when he came in, Charles threw himself back on the couch. Why he lay there when he had a perfectly good bed, he didn't really know. Having his knees over the arm of the couch was just comfortable. He couldn't say it helped him think - he could think any damn place, in any position - but it was just more relaxing. 

Perhaps relaxing had been a bad idea, in reflection. He was still so tired, from a long night or from stress, he didn't know. But as he laid back on the soft cushions, feeling rather more at ease, he knew he was falling asleep. At that moment he didn't particularly care. He could afford to sleep for a few hours, he thought.

It wasn't as if anybody needed him around, anyway.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathan seeks help.

Nathan sat on his bed, fully dressed and considering his options. He'd acknowledged an undeniable attraction to Charles with what he'd done, and it both simplified his thought processes and deeply complicated things. He couldn't tack on "but Charles is a guy, so you can't feel that way about him" anymore, because it would be immediately updated with "oh, except that you used him as masturbation material." This made him way more honest with himself, and also more uncomfortable. He wasn't even sure what the implications of that were, and he didn't want to go into it. 

Simpler, but more complicated - how was that possible? 

He ground his teeth, the stress of so much self-examination getting to him. Normally his actions required far less serious consideration: he wanted to do something, and he did it. Most things ended there. What he needed was someone else to talk to, who could help him work this out. He didn't feel confident that he could do it on his own, not for much longer. It had been a very stressful train of thought and he doubted it could make it to the next station.

Resigning himself to at least talk to Charles, though not necessarily about anything relevant, he left his room and went wandering through the halls. He tried to think of something else, anything else, but it was difficult to the point of being impossible. Charles now consumed his thoughts more than before. He'd been thinking of him for some time before even approaching him... but the frequency of his thoughts then had been tame compared to the present. Wasn't addressing a problem supposed to help solve it? Hadn't he... addressed... the problem? 

Maybe not, he thought. Maybe that didn't count as addressing it at all. Who the fuck knew?

He reached Charles' office and tried to walk in as he always did, but was met by an obstacle: the door was locked. This was unusual, and so he tried the knob repeatedly before realizing what was going on. Why was the door locked? Where was Charles? 

Nathan tried knocking. "Hello? Hey, Charles? You in there?"

No response. 'He wouldn't just ignore me, would he?'

Definitely not, he decided. Charles might have been made uncomfortable by all the attention, he had already assumed as much, but when it came down to it he wouldn't make himself unavailable to the band just because of that. They'd been pretty mean to him in the past and even then he'd put up with their crap. It had to be something else, and for that realization he was grateful. 

He stepped back, confused. There was no desire to break down the door - though he was unsure if it was a nice, sturdy one or something he could take out with one foot - because the unavoidable truth was that Charles would not be pleased, and it was never good to make him angry. No Klokateer would be willing to help piss off their CFO, and Nathan was just as hesitant. So that option was not available to him. 

At a loss, he wandered back down towards the other bedrooms. Still wanting someone who could potentially help him work out his thoughts, to lay them out straight, he chose the direction of Pickles' room. Murderface wasn't even an option, and he had never communicated too easily with Toki or Skwisgaar due to the language barrier. If he could talk to anyone that wasn't Charles, it would be Pickles. And he was the oldest member of Dethklok, so he probably knew his shit when it came to drama and confusion.

Nathan stopped for a moment, standing in the hallway as he mulled over a new thought. Would Pickles make fun of him? He didn't have to know all the details - and Nathan doubted he could even reveal that much to anyone, sensitive as the subject was - but none of the musicians were known for their caring or emotional side. Displaying that to Pickles would be risky. He didn't really seem like a dick, and they'd known each other for a long time... it was still odd to him, though. He'd only just admitted his feelings to himself, and saying it out loud in any way was a bigger step than he was ready for. 

But god, he needed to talk to someone. He was going fucking crazy trying to figure it all out.

He'd just have to take a chance on Pickles.

The drummer emerged a minute after Nathan pounded on his door, looking tired but decently functional; typical Pickles on an average day. He looked up at his friend with a confused expression, as if he really couldn't figure out what Nathan could possibly want from him.

"He-ey, Nate. Whet can I do fer ya?"

"I wanna, uh, talk. About something important. Can I...come in?"

"Sher, yeah, go on," he said, moving aside to let Nathan in. He hadn't expected the singer to come to him; Charles perhaps, but not him. If this was about what he thought it was, he was about to be party to a very awkward conversation. Pickles half hoped he was mistaken, but also knew that it was going to be very entertaining... provided it didn't end terribly.

Hell, he was an optimist. 

Nathan sat on the bed awkwardly, shoulders slumped and hands on his knees. Shutting the door and leaning against it, Pickles stuck his hands in his pockets and waited for the big guy to become comfortable enough to talk. An indistinguishable mumble issued forth, and he raised one pierced eyebrow in confusion. 

"Whet?"

"How, uh," Nathan repeated, raising his voice a bit, "do you deal. With."

There was a very long pause that Pickles knew better than to interrupt.

"Wanting to... being attracted. To your friend." He glanced up, looking like he wanted to bolt. 

Pickles smiled at him. "Eh, thet's no big deal. Everybahdy has ta deal with that sometime. Jest be yerself."

"You sound like my mom. Pickles, uh, do me a favour."

"Yeeuh?"

"Don't talk to me like I'm, uh, a kid. All right? This isn't fuckin' simple. And neither am I."

Fuck, he had a point. What Pickles had said was basically the universal pat response to a thirteen-year-old's crush on his classmate. It really wasn't going to assist a fully grown man in romancing his emotionally repressed manager - which is what he had assumed Nathan was there about. 

"Fair enough, sahrry," he said, scratching the back of his neck. Actual effort would have to be applied here; Nathan sincerely wanted his help. It'd be easier if he would come out and admit what was going on, though Pickles already knew more than he was supposed to just from talking to Charles. Nathan couldn't know that, though. "Look, why dontcha level with me, here, an' tell me whet's goin' ahn? I won't tell anybahdy else."

Nathan scowled, but only a little. Hints of a blush rose on his cheekbones. "Don't really want to do that."

"Makes it harder fer me ta help ya."

"Well." He appeared to see the logic in this, and gave pause. Casting a wretched look at the drummer, Nathan cleared his throat. "Well fuck, fine, but you can't tell anybody, all right?"

"Ah swear. Ya can trust me, I prahmise."

"I'm kind of into this... guy..." Nathan paused, and gave him a threatening look. Pickles was careful to make sure he didn't appear amused by this, not wanting the frontman to think he was being mocked. That would be bad, and also incorrect; he was in no position to mock other people for their sexual preferences, given what he'd done in the eighties. "And that's kinda fuckin' odd for me. So I'm just not really sure what to do. About it. You know. Him. The guy."

"Okee, well, thet's fine. Ya don't have ta worry about it, Ah'm nat gonna judge ya. Do ya think he likes ya back?"

"What?"

"This guy ahf yers," he clarified. "Do ya think he feels the same way?"

Nathan shook his head. "No. Probably not. Don't count on it."

"Why nat?"

"'Cause," he said, shrugging one shoulder. "I'm me, and he's... look, I don't wanna get into. This. Shit with you. Let's just say no, probably not."

"Ah." Pickles decided not to push it. "What do ya want ta do about this?"

"I dunno!" He threw up his hands in frustration, and ran one through his hair. "What the fuck do I know, anyway? This isn't my... area. I wasn't good at it when it was women. Now what. Yknow?"

"I... yeeuh. I get it. Yer kinda lahst?"

"Yeah. Fuck yeah."

Pickles gnawed on one fingernail thoughtfully. So Nathan was attracted to Ofdensen, that much he could gather from what was going on. He seemed pretty sure about it, despite his discomfort, so that was at least positive. But Pickles didn't want to just send him off to Charles with a mission to get shot down. He couldn't assume Charles was on the same page as Nathan - though he had a suspicion that he was, or would be soon enough. It was all kind of obvious from an outsider's perspective, but that didn't mean Charles wouldn't be in denial. And they were damned cute together, he mused, a huge singer and a comparatively tiny manager. 

What to do?

"Look, Nate'n," he began, speaking slowly as he put together his thoughts. "Don' rule out anythin' jest yet. Ah'm nat sayin' ta go rushin' in, 'cause ya shouldn't. But, entertain the idea of nat bein' shot down right away. Bein' pessimistic ain't gonna help."

"O...kay." Nathan really didn't see the point in that; he felt that he would only be setting himself up for disappointment if he did it. But whatever. 

Pickles wasn't done. "Jest try an' show this guy that ya care about him. Be really good ta him, give a fuck, ask him about shit and get him ta talk to ya. Like... be his friend, but be the fuckin' best one he's ever had. Show him how much he means ta ya. Show him yer serious. Demonstrate, eh, conviction if ya will. Y'know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I get the idea."

"Awreet. We good, then, on this?"

Nathan nodded, looking far less uncomfortable than he had when they had begun the conversation. He half-grinned at Pickles and rose from the bed, stopping before he left to give the drummer a meaningful look. 

"Thanks, Pickles. Seriously."

"Anytime, Nate."

The door closed, and Pickles tossed himself onto the bed leisurely. Boy, what a fucking ride they were in for. He only hoped it would end well, and not with total disaster.

Nathan slowly made his way back in the direction of Charles' office, thinking about his conversation with Pickles. 'Show him that I care? I'm not supposed to care, how the fuck do I...'

It occurred to him that he had really already been doing that. Even demanding to get to know him, pulling him out of work to relax, those were things that showed he cared - he'd been doing those without much hesitation. And fuck, he cared a lot. There were probably plenty of other things he could do to get his point across. 

The conflict was there in the back of his head; he felt sure any advances he made would be poor, and rejected in any case. But despite this, he still wanted to make sure Charles was aware of his importance. It seemed like he didn't really give a fuck about himself, and Nathan couldn't let that go on. It was the point, it was how it had all started. Charles didn't care about himself. Someone had to do it for him, because he didn't have time.

Nathan, however, had lots of time.

He knocked on the office door, first normally and then pounding in a more Nathan-ish manner. Frustrated when still no response came from inside, he sat down on the floor and leaned against the door in defeat. Wherever Charles was, he would come back to that office eventually, and Nathan would be there waiting for him when he did. 

'Maybe he's in his room...' It seemed likely, but the only door Nathan knew of that led to the CFO's quarters was inside that locked office. Otherwise, he would have had no qualms about walking in on him sleeping or eating or whatever. Charles was easiest to convince into relaxation when he was caught unawares. Nathan wondered if there was a kitchen in that little apartment-thing the man lived in, and figured that if there was not then Charles would be forced to emerge and eat at some point. He had to leave sometime. 

'Sometime', he learned, could take kind of a while to happen. He had been there for over an hour - though he wasn't actually aware of the exact time - and was beginning to feel it in his ass and lower back. The floors of Mordhaus were hardly comfortable, which he'd never taken the time to find out before. Despite the growing ache, he was also quite tired. He didn't want to just leave, mostly because he was terribly stubborn, and because with his luck, Charles would leave his room just as Nathan departed. So there he decided to stay, though it looked like he might be in for the long haul.

Being stubborn never kept anybody awake. Nathan fell asleep half an hour later.

 

*********

 

As it happened, Charles did have a kitchen in his quarters. It was small, but he was only one man and he didn't need much. He was in it while, without his knowledge, Nathan slept uncomfortably outside his office door, and he was eating a sandwich. Bacon fried with sliced onions, on bread with some light margarine. Waking up on his own couch for the second time that week had been a little dismaying - one couldn't help but feel a bit pitiful doing that, especially when you lived alone and there was nobody to banish you to the couch in the first place - and he wanted something tasty to cheer himself up. His throat was also unbearably dry, as having his legs elevated had only made his open-mouthed sleeping problem worse, so he got a tall glass of water to accompany his oily abomination. 

So he was still unhappy, but at least he wasn't hungry anymore. He considered it a plus. 

Now that he was awake, he was automatically thinking again. He just couldn't help it. The paperwork was still at the very back of his mind, since it just wasn't important enough to worry about. Nathan had occupied even his dreams, and was the object of his mind's wanderings. Charles had always known Nathan was an attractive man, but had ignored any type of yearnings he might have had for him over the years. It wasn't beneficial for Nathan if he had unresolved sexual tension coming from his manager, and so it just wasn't happening.

Or at least, he told himself it wasn't happening.

Really, it was. And he knew it. 

Charles decided to distract himself with a book. He wasn't capable of sleeping again just yet, due to a strict internal clock, but he could slack like nobody's business if he really needed to. And at that moment he needed to escape from the thoughts swirling around his head. So he picked up the most recent thing he had been reading - when he had time - which was Palahniuk's most recent novel, Pygmy. He was halfway through and quite enjoying it, though he hadn't touched it in weeks. Workloads were seldom as light and trivial as they were that night. 

The next couple of hours were dispatched finishing the book entirely, and he closed it thoughtfully before returning it to his coffee table. It was late, by that time, and he felt the need to get a few basic things done. Check on the boys... ensure they had not destroyed anything... check the voicemail...

Suddenly Charles felt tired again. God, what was going on with him? No, he decided, he just couldn't put things off anymore that day, and forced himself into his pajamas. Wandering the house even for a short time in his underwear wasn't going to happen; he was not Pickles. 

No nasty surprises awaited him on the voicemail; desperate sponsors hoping for a crack at Dethklok, pleading fans and a few actual calls of mild importance, which he noted on a post-it. He deleted the rest, not wanting to have to hear them a second time, and set off for the main room to check on the band. They would probably all be asleep or at least in their respective rooms, but it was best to look there first. 

He opened the door, and found his path blocked by a large, slumped shape. Charles frowned, and peered over his glasses at the sleeping form of Nathan Explosion. Without the door behind his back for support, he slowly fell backwards onto the carpeted floor of the office, head between Charles' feet. It didn't seem to have woken him up.

"Nathan? What are you doing sleeping in the hallway?" he asked loudly, toeing the singer's temple. Nathan twitched and opened his eyes slowly, looking pleased with himself when he realized who was speaking to him. 

"What d'you think?" He responded, as if the answer was obvious. "I was waiting for you."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathan and Charles go out for a bite to eat.

Charles looked down at Nathan, who seemed quite content to lie on the ground. Waiting for him... he couldn't keep a small smile from creeping onto his mouth, feeling rather pleasantly surprised. Nathan saw this, and it made the hours of waiting on the floor entirely worth it; though his lower back would disagree. 

"Where you going?" he asked, putting his arms behind his head and getting comfortable. "Kinda late."

"I was going to check on you and the others, to make sure you weren't breaking anything. I do have to do that periodically."

"I didn't break anything."

"I trust you," Charles said, surprised to find it was true. Nathan had often been the one who ended up destroying furniture and other objects around the house, but it was quite clear where the singer had been this whole time... that was, in the hallway. Waiting for him. Waiting for Charles...

He was struck by how... sweet it was. There wasn't any other word for it.

"Well, I should still go and make sure the other boys are behaving. Would you like to come?"

Nathan sat up and turned, sitting cross-legged in the doorway now. "No."

"Er-"

"They're fine. I don't hear any screaming. Stop worrying."

"I really should," Charles argued, trying to step around Nathan. The frontman blocked him, standing up and effectively filling the doorframe. There wasn't any way to get past him when he did that; it was a convenience of size.

"I waited in this hallway for like. Three hours. To stop you from working."

"I wasn't even working then."

"But you're trying to now. Cut it out."

Charles crossed his arms and looked up at Nathan with a falsely stern expression. The singer filled the doorway, leaning on one arm casually and looking down at him in a very stubborn way. Charles liked how at-ease he looked that way, so large and yet not awkward at all. There was something about the way his t-shirt fit his broad chest that drew the eye, especially when he was so close... ah. He was, actually, very close...

He realized immediately what was happening, and shook his head lightly to clear it. That wasn't allowed. He'd spent hours that night explaining to himself why it wasn't allowed.

"Very well, if you won't let me leave I suppose I can't. Would you like to come out of the doorway?"

"Sure." But he didn't move, looking down at Charles with a frustratingly unreadable expression. His eyes were intense but calm, and made it hard for Charles to really think about going anywhere at all. Why did he have to be so captivating? 

He seemed to be waiting for the smaller man to walk away, but Charles did no such thing. Torn between two different thoughts, he reached up and placed his hand carefully on Nathan's chest, palm flat. It was the lightest of touches, but it made Nathan's breathing falter for a moment when it happened.

What the fuck was going on?

Charles looked at him very strangely for a moment, their gazes locking. Nathan's eyes were wide, and he easily stepped backwards when the hand on his chest pressed ever so slightly, almost stumbling. It really wasn't a push at all, but he felt tethered to the hand and had to move when it did. He was powerless against it, against that gentle pressure. 

Before he had time to figure out what had happened, the door closed. 

"Hey!"

"I'll be back in a minute," Charles said through the locked door, and Nathan scowled at it as though he could be seen through the wood. His heart was hammering in his chest, hands shaking, eyes still opened wide in confusion. One question pulsed angrily in his mind:

What the hell had just happened to him? 

In his bedroom, Charles was wondering more or less the same thing about himself. He tugged on his pants and one of his many white shirts, omitting the jacket and tie, as he thought about it. What he'd intended to do was try to push Nathan out of the doorway, so he could go get dressed. But once his hand had touched the other man, felt how warm and solid he was, it had been very difficult to control what happened next. So many things had raced through his mind in such disarray that he hardly recognized his own brain at the time. He'd wanted so badly to lean up, to brace himself against Nathan's chest with that hand and kiss him. It had come out of nowhere, and almost overwhelmed him; the intensity was frightening. 

Could he not even touch Nathan, now, without nearly losing control over himself? 

He finished buttoning up the shirt, though ignoring the top few buttons, and went out into his office again. Charles took a few deep, slow breaths. He couldn't just ignore him, or leave him in the hall; he'd promised to come back. The whole point of leaving had been to become presentable. He didn't need to be presentable if he was hiding in his office... so he had to leave. 

Oh, but Nathan was still out there, still waiting, and still so appealing in every way...

He would just have to bear it.

The door swung open and Nathan looked over at it from his position against the wall, trying and failing to appear as if he had not been waiting attentively for his return. Charles emerged, looking as casual as he could on his own, and gave him a friendly look. Something in Nathan demanded that he take Charles' hand or put an arm around him, but he did neither. He wasn't ready to be disappointed just yet. 

"I'm yours for the night," Charles said, mentally cursing himself for the poor phrasing; he had not intended it to sound that way. "What did you want to do, to stop me from working?"

Nathan noticed the slip easily, though didn't see it for what it was, and grit his teeth as a very bad response rose in the back of his mind. "I dunno, but I'm hungry. And you can't check on the guys, because that's work."

"They could all be drowning in the hot tub as we speak."

Nathan shrugged. "If they drown in a hot tub they fucking deserve to die. Nobody drowns in a hot tub."

"Actually-" Charles was cut off as Nathan raised a hand. 

"No. Whatever you're gonna say is based on facts and that means I consider it work. C'mon, let's go somewhere."

Shaking his head, Charles walked alongside Nathan down the hall. He'd just have to get used to this; periodically he would just not be permitted to think or work or function in any way. Fine, that was acceptable. He could deal with that, without snapping and doing something both he and Nathan would deeply regret moments later. He could spend large quantities of time around Nathan without going insane, of course he could. 

Probably. 

"I can totally hear you thinking," Nathan commented, making Charles jump and then silently praise the fact that the other man could NOT hear what he was thinking - or see it, either, since it was frequently illustrated. "Cut that shit out."

It was a hypocritical command, since Nathan himself had done nothing but think since before Charles had emerged in proper clothes. He'd felt completely overpowered by something that barely constituted contact, and it had honestly shaken him. Coming to terms with what he felt for Charles had been interesting, but he realized he had underestimated what the man could do to him with simple gestures. It had been a moment for him where he'd hoped... but no. What he had hoped for, then, would never happen. He knew that.

"Wanna get some food?"

"I had a sandwich earlier, but I could certainly eat again," Charles replied. "Did you have something in mind?"

"Burgers and fries. It's a delicacy in my country. You've probably never heard of it."

The tone to Nathan's voice made Charles sincerely want to stick his tongue out at him, but he resisted. "Sounds good."

On the way past the main room, Charles did peer over at the hot tub to see if the boys were in it. They were not, and Nathan caught him trying to look for them before they came to the hallway leading to the garage. He gave Charles a light shove. "Thought I wouldn't notice?"

"I had to try. It's what I do."

"Do you really check on us at night?" Nathan asked, having not really thought about it until then. "Like, on all of us? In bed and stuff?"

Charles nodded. "Repeatedly throughout the night. You boys have no actual sleep schedule that you adhere to and I have to keep an eye on you. I have cameras, but not in the bedrooms, so I just walk around the house and make sure you're all alive."

"That's... really creepy. And kinda cool." He looked at the manager gently. "We'd probably die without you around."

"Well, I'm not going anywhere."

They walked in comfortable silence after that, Nathan considering how terrible it would be if something actually did happen to Charles. It was a dangerous job to even exist near Dethklok, and he was their fucking manager. Someone could easily target him, though Nathan was unsure how easy doing anything past that point would be. Charles seemed very organized about their security. Surely that extended onto himself... right?

"What do you have protecting yourself?" 

"Hmm?"

Nathan gestured with one hand. "Yknow. You have all this shit to keep us safe. What's keeping you safe if we get attacked by some crazy fucking extremists or monsters or something?"

"Well," Charles began, wanting to rule out 'monsters' as being unrealistic but recalling the Mustakrakish incident very clearly, "The basic defences of Mordhaus are quite extensive."

"That's it?"

"It's enough."

Dismayed, Nathan fell silent again. He'd hoped there would be more than a house and some guys in hoods between Dethklok's enemies - though he wasn't sure who exactly their enemies were, only that they existed - and his little manager. Charles could take care of himself, but... still. It wasn't very encouraging.

They picked one of the many black cars housed in Dethklok's massive garage, Nathan uncaring as to what it was or when they'd acquired it. He set off for Dimmu Burger with a growing emptiness in both his stomach and his chest, trying to pay more attention to the road than to Charles. He was doing poorly at that, but managed not to get them killed. 

It was just something about his profile, Nathan decided. He could see the way Charles' throat curved into his open collar, and it was distracting him greatly. Ideas of what he could do to that throat were already creeping through his mind; he wanted to feel the soft skin there, and taste it, and hear the sounds that he liked to think Charles might make while he did that. It was just a neck, it was something you could see at least part of all the time even when he wore suits, but he could not stop thinking about it. He wondered about the way it sloped down into the rest of his body, and thought about what was under that shirt. It wasn't intentional, he just couldn't help himself.

"We're going very fast," Charles pointed out, jolting Nathan from his unnecessary daydreams. Oh fuck me, he thought, we're going really fast. Time to slow down and focus on driving, we're almost there. Get ahold of yourself, Nathan. Christ. 

Almost there. Almost there. Almost there. Don't look at him. Almost there. Almost there. Almost...

Nathan peered sideways at Charles, and his hands tightened on the steering wheel. Focus. Don't think about it. He looked away, and missed the moment later when Charles looked back in much the same way that he had. Neither had seen the other looking, but they were both thinking more or less along the same lines. 

"Right," Nathan said, breaking the silence. "Food, awesome." 

Charles frowned and looked out the window. "Oh, we're here."

Truthfully, he hadn't been paying attention. Even as he'd been gazing out of the windshield, he wasn't actually looking at the things around them. His mind had been a million miles away, sneaking a peek at what he'd told himself he'd ignore. It was so difficult to control that it frustrated him; normally, self-control was easily obtained. Not so much anymore. Damn. 

Nathan sat there, despite having parked, and clenched the wheel bitterly. He wanted to grab Charles and just... it didn't matter, really, all he wanted was to touch him. He wanted contact, contact of any kind, and it was driving his mind away. It had been so easy for him to relax and open up to Charles before, and now that he was consumed with what he wanted it was as difficult as speaking to a stranger at times. He had to let go of the nervousness... just show him you care, Nathan thought, remembering what Pickles had told him. Fuck, but he cared too much, in the wrong way, and he just wanted to... to...

"Fuck, this is driving me nuts!" Nathan exclaimed with a pound to the steering wheel, not realizing he was speaking aloud.

"I... What?" Charles asked, confused and a little worried. Had he been doing something? Was Nathan tired of his company already, that it was annoying him that much? 

Hastily, Nathan shook his head. Charles was very obviously connecting his outburst to his own presence - it was plain on his face, though most of his emotions usually weren't - and that meant... no, he hadn't intended to make him think that! He put on his most relaxed grin, trying to be reassuring but not really knowing how to do it. "I'm just really fucking hungry. Let's go, uh. Get some food. Like, now."

The wounded look vanished. "Sounds good."

Charles sighed internally. He'd thought maybe Nathan was sick of him, already. It seemed pretty plausible; spending any amount of time around someone like himself would probably make anyone lose their patience. He just wasn't very much fun. But no, surely Nathan would just tell him if that was the case. This was, after all, Nathan. He was honest, if anything.

They exited the car, Charles still half concentrating on stressful thoughts. Nathan could see his face tensing up a little, giving him the blank look he carried during work hours, and frowned. 

"I told you, no working. I can tell. Your face gets all serious. Stop it."

He far preferred it when Charles was smiling, but preferred not to have to get him drunk to see that. It would happen if he needed it to, but the best case scenario was getting Charles to be happy without the help of alcohol. 

Though, Nathan reflected, it might not be long before he'd need that to function, himself. He needed a distraction, and badly. 

He took hold of the door handle and yanked, surprised when it resisted. A closer look told him the store had closed an hour earlier - who knew it was so late? - and that they would be forced to use the drive-through. Which in turn meant...

"We'll just have to go back with the food then," Nathan decided aloud, speaking to himself as much as to Charles. "Okay. Cool. Back to the car."

Back in the confined space with that delicious-smelling manager and his beautiful neck. Great. Charles frowned, peering around him to see the 'closed' sign. "Oh, I see. All right then." 

Nathan stopped short of the vehicle, then turned to Charles and instructed him to stay right where he was. "What did you want to eat?"

"I'd be happy with just some fries. I did eat earlier but I could deal with something light. Why?"

"Like I said. Just, uh. Stay here."

He was gone, walking off around the drive-through side of the building with that unusual determination Nathan got when he had an idea. There was no way to talk him out of whatever he was up to, and Charles knew that better than anyone, he was sure. So he just sat on the hood of the locked car, pondering the singer and enjoying the air. 

Five minutes passed, and Nathan returned with a large bag of food and a raised eyebrow. "They didn't want to serve me because I'm not a car."

"Well, you're not a car. They have a point."

"Fuck them, I'm big enough to use the drive-through lane without a car. Anyway, I got the food."

Nathan joined Charles on the hood of the car, which groaned slightly in protest, and opened the grease-stained bag. Typically Charles would object to fast food, but with the contents of his previous meal he was really in no position to complain about it. He took a cardboard container of steaming fries out and balanced it in his lap, eating one contentedly. He had to admit, as cheap and terrible as the food was, there was a certain quality to eating oversalted fries that was.... comfortably normal. He couldn't even recall the last time he had eaten fast food. 

"So are we just going to sit on the car? Not that I mind."

"Yeah. I figure why not. It's kinda nice. Outside," Nathan said, shrugging.

"Yes, it is."

With the illusion of being sneaky, which he was not, Nathan glanced sideways at the man next to him. Charles looked at ease, but also very unusual. Seeing him doing things like a normal jackoff, eating regular food and just sitting around, was pretty strange. Even being out of the suit was a change. These were all welcome things, though, and Nathan was enjoying seeing them happen. It reminded him that Charles was just another normal man under all of his training and conditioning and unhappiness, and normal people did normal things. Normal things like hanging out, and eating fries, and having fun, and being in relationships. 

He grit his teeth. There was that grain of hopefulness again. It kept cropping up, making him feel like he had a shot when he knew damn well he didn't. Charles may look like a normal guy now, he thought, but I know he's not one. He's special, and I'm just not good enough for him.

Remember that, he told himself. Don't forget it. Don't get your hopes up... again. 

Charles munched on his fries quietly, and decided for the hundredth time not to kiss Nathan.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fries are stolen, and tensions are high.

The night was cool, and Nathan sat comfortably on the hood of the car, consuming what could be called a decent hamburger. Crickets were bitching in the grass, filling the otherwise silent parking lot with a nice background hum. 

A hand sneaked over to his container of ketchup, swiping some on the end of a long french fry. He raised his eyebrow at Charles, who feigned innocence. "Saw that."

"I did nothing."

He smirked a little, and reached over to steal one of the man's fries; he had his own, but this was more fun. Charles gave him an amused look, and poked back at the ketchup again in response. This went back and forth for a few minutes, both of them shooting the other false disapproving frowns as the food was exchanged. 

Nathan finished his burger and leaned back against the windshield, waiting. Sure enough, here came another fry bound for his cup of ketchup, and he snatched it out of Charles' hand and popped it into his mouth. Charles nudged the frontman's knee with his foot playfully.

"That was cheating."

"I did nothing," Nathan replied, trying to imitate Charles' cool tone and failing badly. He reached out and gave him a small shove in answer to his nudge, and took another fry. Charles shoved him back, on the shoulder this time. 

A minute or two passed, and Charles reached over again to dip a fry into the cup, wearing a look that dared him to respond.

Nathan struck, grabbing Charles' arm and rolling him onto his back. For a moment he had forgotten who he was messing around with; it wasn't uncommon for him and the other guys to rough-house a bit. So because of this, he just wasn't thinking when he pinned the manager to the hood of the car, wrists above his head on the windshield, feeling quite victorious about winning the little scuffle.

And then quite suddenly, he was thinking again.

Charles' body was pressed between his own and the car, warm and lean beneath him. His chest was heaving from the exertion of fighting with the larger man, breath coming in short gasps, and Nathan was acutely aware of the way his mouth was open to do this. They'd ended up in a compromising position, neither meaning to, and as he registered that he was hovering over Charles, kneeling between his legs and holding him down, his brain stopped working again. 

The buzzing of crickets was drowned out by the rushing in his ears, and he fought against something he now wanted to do versus what he should do. Charles wasn't struggling anymore, or doing much at all but breathing heavily and looking at him with such... what was that? It was a really unreadable expression, because Nathan had just never seen it before. 

Charles himself knew what it was, and he didn't have the presence of mind to wipe it off his face. It was desire.

He wanted the huge singer with a ferocity that had doubled in his moment of weakness, and it threatened to make him act in a way he would surely regret. All kinds of images were racing through his head at the way they were lying there, registering the weight of Nathan's hips on his own. If he could have gathered himself enough to think, he would have been sure he'd never wanted anything so much as he did at that moment. 

His breathing returned to normal, but his mouth stayed open, stunned into a part. Charles couldn't function, couldn't do anything appropriate or otherwise because his brain just wouldn't process movement at all. Nathan was still staring down at him, eyes wide now and looking almost... restrained? No, it couldn't be. He had just been fucking around, it was what Nathan did, and it wasn't his fault they had ended up in such a position. 

Charles wanted it to be his fault. He wanted it all to be intentional; he wanted to be pressed into the hood of the car with the singer's whole body, firm against his own, and driven by the same want and need he had inside of himself. It wasn't happening, but he so wanted it to that he almost let himself go. He wanted to push for it, to see what would happen if he just... for once, did something for himself. 

Nathan's grip loosened on Charles, one thumb running over the smaller man's wrists slowly and thoughtlessly. He bit the inside of his lip and tried to collect himself, feeling a searing heat spread through him as he watched Charles just lying there beneath him, not trying to wrestle further but not asking him to get off either. It gave him a good view of the manager's neck, which seemed so much more exposed, almost as if Charles was baring it to him; the mental images this provided were quite enough, and he tasted blood as he bit a tiny hole in his lip. 

He didn't know how many minutes had passed, but they all collectively ceased as he rolled off of Charles fluidly, onto his back on the windshield as if nothing had ever happened. As if he hadn't just been that close to crushing their mouths together and begging to be forgiven afterwards. He was so desperate to be physically close to Charles that it made him ache. It would have almost been worth it, but Nathan couldn't alienate him. He just couldn't.

Charles breathed a silent but heavy sigh, feeling drained from what had just happened. His whole body had been tense, straining to get away from his control and wrap itself around Nathan. What a dangerous moment that had been, pushing his limit like that. He ran his hand through his hair and tried to act normally, as Nathan beside him was doing easily. Nothing unusual had happened; this was just play, and he couldn't afford to reveal that he'd been so deeply affected by it. He didn't want to have to answer questions about his reaction.

He wasn't sure he could lie. 

 

*********

 

The drive home had been uneventful, small talk made and exchanged, but they'd left each other on a positive note. Charles hadn't commented on Nathan pinning him, and for that Nathan was incredibly relieved. It had just gotten out of hand. He let Charles head back to his room alone, hopefully to get some sleep rather than to work in the dead of night, and retreated to his bedroom.

He shut the door and leaned heavily against it, feeling drained from holding himself back all night. So many little things he had wanted to do, over and over, so many slight gestures of affection he'd wanted to give to Charles and couldn't. It was exhausting to be so careful. 

Nathan had expected being attracted to a man to be different, somehow, from being attracted to a woman. It really wasn't, though, and it was throwing him off. He wanted to do most of the same basic things to Charles as he would to a female, and it seemed a lack of practice did not inhibit his imagination in the slightest. He was becoming more and more comfortable with the fantasies his brain was conjuring up, and with his attraction in general. It wasn't his fault; Charles was just so easy to want. 

A knock came at the door, and he tensed. Was it Charles?

No, it was Pickles. Nathan looked at the drummer in surprise, then gestured for him to come in. "Hey. Kinda, uh, late. What's going on?"

Pickles shuffled his feet and shot Nathan a shit-eating grin. "So I saw yeh comin' back jest now. How was yer date?"

"What?" Nathan narrowed his eyes dangerously. What the fuck?

"C'mahn, Ah'm nat stupid. Yer mystery guy is Ahfdensen, reet? Ya spend all yer time with him."

He wouldn't let Nathan know how obvious it was, but something had to give. Pickles was curious, and had to know how it was going. They were just too interesting of an item to ignore.

Nathan glared at him some more and he waved the man away. "Ah'm nat gonna say anythin' to him, don't worry. Stap lookin' at me like that, Christ."

"Fine, yeah. You're right."

Grinning even wider, Pickles nodded. "Yeeuh. So how'd it go?"

"It wasn't a date," Nathan corrected, though now he wasn't so sure. "It was, uh, fun. We got food."

"Ya make a move ahn him yet?"

"NO."

Taken aback a little, Pickles shrugged. "Why nat?"

Nathan sat down on the edge of his bed irritably. This had not been in his plans for the night. "Just. Stuff. Y'know." 

"Whet?"

He gestured at himself. "Me."

"Whet about ya?"

Giving him a look that clearly wondered if the drummer was stupid, Nathan tried to form a few sentences without choking on them. Pickles was a good guy, but it was still fucking hard to talk to him about this. Spending time with Charles had spoiled him with ease of conversation, and he found himself back to normal without the other man around. It was frustrating.

"Just. I'm not, uh. The kind of guy. That a guy like him would, uh, be interested. In. Obviously."

Pickles shook his head. "I wouldn't be so sure, Nate."

"Well. I am. Sure," he clarified, shrugging. "Okay?"

"Nat okay. Give yerself some credit, hey? Yer not a bad-lookin' guy, don't take it in a creepy way or anythin', and yer a nice dood. He knows ya pretty dern well, he knows what kinda guy ya are. Why would he wanna spend time around ya otherwise? I bet ya gat more of a chance than ya think."

Okay, so he was cheating. A little. But he wasn't coming right out and tampering with the situation, just giving Nathan a little bit of a... push. Some encouragement. They'd both get there in the end, Pickles was sure, but damn if they weren't being stubborn. He reminded himself to talk to Charles again the next time he had a few minutes. Get the update from him. 

"That's. Pretty nice, Pickles, but. I mean. Look at me."

Nathan felt rather sorry for himself, thinking about it. He would contemplate it a few times every day and it always brought him down, had done ever since he'd begun wondering about Charles months before. He hadn't known why then, but he knew now. He just wasn't good enough. Why Pickles thought otherwise, he had no idea.

"Ah'm lookin' at ya. Nothin' wrong with ya."

"Fuck, I'm just not good enough for him!" Nathan almost shouted, managing a full sentence in his anger. This gave Pickles pause; he'd never really thought of the frontman as having a self esteem issue before, other than on occasion about his body. Did he think he wasn't a nice guy? What was the problem?

"I dunno if I can change yer mind about that," he started, trying to sound reassuring, "but yer wrong. Really wrong. I bet Ahfdensen would have somethin' ta say about that. Yeh'd have ta ask him, though."

"Forget it. I'm just. Not gonna do anything. Gonna be, uh, normal. Deal with it, my own way. I'll get over it."

They shared a look, and both knew that he very well would not get over it. 

"Whet's the prahblem ya got with yerself, if ya don't mind me askin'?"

Nathan was quiet, but years around the man told Pickles that he was thinking rather than ignoring him. The drummer waited patiently, knowing an interruption would only make Nathan more uncomfortable and an answer more unlikely. 

"I'm," Nathan started, but paused again. "Just. Big. Clumsy. Really awkward. And, he, uh, isn't. He's all..."

He gestured, trying to sum up how cool and composed Charles always managed to be. "And he's, uh, smarter. Good with work. I'm. Lazy, and I don't... talk right. I'm a big asshole and he's. Just."

A long pause, and Pickles gave him a look that encouraged him to finish. "Amazing."

Watching Nathan's face during what had to have been a very difficult few sentences, Pickles had seen a whirlwind of emotions crossing the big guy's face. He was obviously so torn up about it, obviously cared so much and was very attached to Ofdensen. Anybody could have seen it then, plain on the singer's face, and Pickles patted him on the shoulder.

"I think yer sellin' yerself short," he said, "cause ya got a lot of deep feelin's goin' on here. And I bet that's all Ahfdensen would care about."

He felt like he'd said all he could, and got up from the seat on the bed he had drifted to during the conversation. It almost seemed mean to leave Nathan alone when he was so broken up about it - and it was Pickles' fault for poking the wound - but he knew the frontman would rather have some time with his emotions without someone else there to see them. It was best if he left. 

"Pickles."

Pickles paused halfway out the door. "Yeeuh?"

"You. Really think I, uh. Have a shot?"

"Yeeuh, I really do."

Nathan was quiet, and Pickles took that as his cue to go. He did, leaving the singer alone with that to ponder.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody gets any damn sleep, and thoughts are explored.

Charles was very much shaken by the events of the night, though he had still enjoyed spending time with Nathan. In retrospect he felt stupid for allowing himself to come so close to letting go, knowing that he had more discipline than that and vowing to exercise it in the future. Surely it couldn't be that hard to resist a man - and a straight man, no less - but it was proving difficult.

He was in bed for once, opting not to spend another night on the couch, and fidgeted under the covers as his thoughts wandered. Nathan really wasn't just a man; he wasn't just anything. No, he was much more than that, more impressive and captivating. His personality was so interesting, shy but kind despite how he might have seemed otherwise, and sharper than anyone else seemed to think he was. That wasn't even to mention his body, which Charles frankly found to be very tempting. He was just so massive, so solid and real, that he made things around him seem lesser in comparison. Charles had always seen that in him, long before he'd ever admitted to himself that he had an attraction to the singer. Nathan had presence. 

God, he wanted him.

The bed seemed too large with just Charles in it, though it had only ever held him before. He rolled over on one side and then the other, totally incapable of getting comfortable. Despite being tired, he could not sleep. All he could do was think, and want, and repress it all. 

His mind was replaying the scene from earlier over and over, the details as clear as when it had happened. The way Nathan had just pinned him, so easily and seemingly without thought, all that power holding him down. His hips, his arms, his shoulders... shapes Charles was familiar with and parts of the man he wanted to touch, all so close to him. Suspended over him in an almost cruel taunt. Nathan had looked at him intensely then, like for a moment they were on the same page, thinking the same things. Just the thought of it was overwhelming. 

Charles frowned, knowing that his reaction to those memories was simply not going to make sleep any easier. It seemed wrong to act on it, though, as if Nathan could somehow find out. As if he could be caught, despite his room being locked and the place being empty except for him. 

Nobody would know, if he did...

He shook his head, burrowing further into his sheets and ignoring the prominent arousal that was the result of his mind wandering. It wouldn't make anything better, it wouldn't change how he felt. He wouldn't do it. 

Think about work. Think about those fans whose paperwork you have to sift through tomorrow. Think about staples.

Think about large, warm hands, and deep green eyes. Think about long black hair hanging over wide shoulders. Think about well-fitting shirts on a broad chest. 

Think about work!

Charles groaned angrily. He was so frustrated, but it seemed so unfair to do anything about it. Though there was no possible way for Nathan to know, the idea of what his reaction would be if he did find out was awful. It was enough to hold him back. He'd just have to ignore it, until it went away.

It was going to be a long night.

 

*********

 

Nathan fell backwards onto his bed as soon as Pickles left, feeling even more wrecked than he had before. False hope on top of the frustration was the last thing he needed, and it just made him angry. Hopeful, but angry all the same. 

His head was spinning with all kinds of thoughts. He felt inadequate, but wanted to believe Pickles at the same time. He wanted Charles, but also felt bad for not putting the other man's feelings before his own desire at all times. He felt turned on by memories of the parking lot, but guilty as hell for putting Charles in that situation. It was like being a teenager all over again, not knowing which fucking way was up. 

What he wanted to focus on was showing Charles he cared. Pickles had assured him that was the right thing to do, but it was so hard to display that without letting it go too far. The line between caring and loving was thin, and he didn't want to slip over it in his behavior. Charles would probably notice, and that would be bad.

It was a strange thought; did he love Charles? Was that what it was? Nathan wasn't really sure, having never loved anyone before. It could be, he supposed, but what the hell would he know about it if it was? And did it really matter what label he put on it? It'd be the same frustrating, maddening feeling no matter what he thought of it as. Love or not, he was stuck with it. 

He rolled over onto his stomach, resting his chin and arms on the pillow. Sleep was nowhere near, and all Nathan wanted was not to be awake for a while. Too much time thinking about seriously confusing stuff had left him reluctant to spend time alone, yet being around the guys was a pain in the ass because they would bother him about his time with Charles. He wanted to sleep, to get away from reality for a little while. 

Nathan remembered, with a flood of relief, the bottle of sleeping pills he had somewhere in his bedside table. He'd gotten it from Pickles a while back, for god only knew what reason - he didn't recall and it didn't matter anymore. The fact was that he could get some sleep, and he rooted around frantically for the container. Please don't let me have thrown it away...

"Yes," he muttered, hand closing around a distinct orange bottle. Nathan popped the cap and swallowed two, tossing it back into the drawer and lying down to wait for the much-needed unconsciousness. Maybe the medicine would prevent him from dreaming, and then he wouldn't have to tolerate the disappointment he felt each morning when he woke up alone, dreams of managers in pajamas revealed as mere fiction. 

Being awake really was overrated. He thought he might do it less from then on.

 

*********

 

It was no good. Charles just couldn't sleep. He was strung too tightly, his mind whirring at a million miles per minute, and though he was exhausted sleep seemed nowhere near. Frustrated, he rolled out of bed and resolved to walk around a little. Some nights, when work was piled up to the point where he worked past a reasonable hour, a nice stroll around the halls would calm him down enough to let him pass out. 

He so desperately wanted to sleep. So tired, so stressed. Just wanna sleep. 

A glance into the main room showed Charles that Toki had fallen asleep on the couch, watching what was, by that hour, paid programming. He covered the guitarist with a spare blanket and switched off the obnoxious advert, feeling much the nanny as he often did. The boys were forgetful and at times a little useless; Charles imagined them sometimes as large children. 

Perhaps that was an odd road to go down; he hid an extremely inappropriate attraction to someone he cared for, yet he thought of that same man also as a child? Charles examined this thought as he wandered the halls aimlessly. Was it just another reason for him to stay away from Nathan? Was he getting his manager's duties tangled up with something else? The band would be largely screwed without him, so it wasn't unrealistic or arrogant of him to recognize that they needed him. They depended on him. Did that make his feelings even more misplaced... or less so?

It was just another confusing piece of the puzzle. So many things grouped together to show him why what he wanted was wrong, but many of those same things could be seen, in a different light, to encourage him. Charles was torn neatly between his job - which he was most accustomed to anyway, of the two - and his desires. He was no longer completely sure that having what he wanted would destroy everything he had worked for, and that baffled him most of all. 

Could he really be happy and responsible at the same time? 

Internally he knew it didn't matter, because having Nathan was not an option. Whatever internal conflict there was for the singer, he was still straight. No amount of personal problem-solving was going to change that, and Charles was practical enough to realize it. Still, it didn't change that now he was almost angry for not pursuing something he wanted. He felt as if he had been cheating himself for some time and only just realized it.

He hadn't, honestly, just realized it. It may have seemed that way, but he knew better. This was just another one of those things he had repressed, hidden away inside himself for the sake of making things easier and more efficient. Now it had come out with a vengeance, making him feel robbed of time he could have spent enjoying himself. He knew he had done that, knew he had been the one keeping himself away from the rest of the world. Really, Charles had always known this, and he considered this fact as he drew level with Nathan's bedroom door. 

Maybe it was time for a change of pace.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles makes a choice.

Nathan was dreaming.

As was often the case, he knew he was dreaming; normally this would spoil the dream, but not this time. The dream in particular was recurring and always a trial to sleep through, typically making him jolt back awake with a sudden sick feeling. However, through the haze of the medicine he had taken, Nathan was finding it difficult to force himself back awake, and so had to endure what was occurring before him. 

He was viewing himself, asleep on a perfect copy of his own real bed, looking far more peaceful than he must have in real life. His dream self was clutching another person to his chest tightly, like a kid holds onto a favorite stuffed animal - that same desperate squeeze that says they'll stay asleep if whatever they've got doesn't go anywhere. Nathan didn't have to be on the other side of the bed to see who Dream Nathan was holding; he already knew this scene too well. 

Honestly, he hated it. Where it should have been a rare comfort in contrast to reality, it was just another reminder of what he wasn't able to get. His own brain was taunting him, sleeping within sleep. None of it was real, or could be real, and the more aware of this he became, he more he tried to struggle awake. Nathan reflected that maybe he should have taken only one of the sleeping pills, and that he could be stuck in the dream for hours before the meds wore off. 

Fuck.

Charles opened the bedroom door, stepping inside and peering at the bed. He had expected to find the frontman reading, but instead he seemed to have gone to sleep. Nathan's position was awkward looking, flat on his back above the neatly folded covers, body tense. Having seen him asleep in both his own bed and on various pieces of furniture and floor across Mordhaus, Charles was familiar with Nathan's sleeping habits - looking angry and taut was not typical for him. Was he having a nightmare?

Stepping away from the door and towards the sleeping man, Charles suddenly felt incredibly creepy. What the hell was he even doing there? What had he thought he'd do, if Nathan had been awake?

The answer was bold and, he saw now, very unrealistic. He had been planning to take a chance, do whatever impulse came to him at the moment he walked in, and being faced with an unreceptive audience made him falter. What a stupid idea this was, he thought. Thank god Nathan's asleep and I don't have to make excuses for why I'm here... I should never have been so foolish. 

Charles shook his head and walked over to the bed, sitting down on the edge and leaning over to look at Nathan's face. He was frowning deeply, eyes squeezed shut. What did the frontman of Dethklok have nightmares about, Charles wondered. He knew he should just leave, lucky to have escaped without being seen, but it felt wrong to just leave Nathan alone in that state. The man looked absolutely miserable.

"Nathan," he ventured, pushing on one heavy shoulder. "Hey."

Still mired deep in his dream, Nathan pushed on his own consciousness as best as he knew how. Normally he could wake up, though it took plenty of effort, but this time it wasn't happening. He was aware of weird sounds, sounds outside of the dream itself; someone talking? In the hallway, maybe, he couldn't tell, or over the announcement system. Probably not actually to him, since he was clearly asleep, but someone was making noises near him. What the hell was that?

Worried now, Charles pushed Nathan harder. "Wake up."

Still no response but further grimacing, which meant the singer had either taken some kind of drug - hopefully nothing dangerous, but given his size... probably not - or drunk himself to sleep that night. It wasn't unusual behavior for Nathan to drink until he passed out, but he didn't smell like alcohol and Charles wasn't aware of any bottles nearby. He really shouldn't leave, if there was a chance Nathan might not be able to wake up for some time. Someone should be keeping an eye on him, Charles justified, leaning against a pillow and looking down at the sleeping frontman. 

Someone who could be trusted.

Sighing, Charles got up and cast another look at Nathan before leaving the room, not bothering to shut the door. He made his way down the hall to Pickles' room, feeling pretty wretched about what he was about to do. Still, he knew that he couldn't trust himself alone with Nathan, and would more than likely wake up snuggling the singer like an old teddy with no explanation as to how he'd come to be there. He had to do the right thing.

"Pickles," he called through the door, knocking sharply. A groan came from within before it opened, revealing the only member of Dethklok typically awake in the early hours of the morning. Pickles looked stoned but not tired, and Charles knew he hadn't woken the drummer up. "I need a favor."

"Oh yeeuh? C'min. I gatta talk ta ya anyway," Pickles grinned. "Good timing, I was gettin' bored."

Charles raised an eyebrow and entered, suspiciously eyeing the redhead's gleeful expression. "Oh?"

Gesturing at the bed, Pickles chose to stay standing as he often did with visitors. He had intended to speak to Ofdensen the next day, but if he was awake and looking for company, Pickles could oblige and get his own goal out of the way early. 

"I wanna talk to ya about Nat'en," he said, calming an irritable look with a wave of his hand. "I wanna hear how ya feel about the guy. An' be ahnest, Ah'm nat gonna tell anybahdy. Ya know thet, but I want the truth."

Charles frowned. "I don't see how-"

"C'mahn. Don't play me fer a fool."

He sighed. Pickles had him, he supposed; he'd called it from the very beginning, and of all the boys, the drummer was certainly the sharpest. He'd been around longer, if nothing else, almost as long as Charles himself. Perhaps it would be best to just tell him the truth. 

"I... don't..." Words failed to come easily, and he faltered. "It's not quite so simple. I just care about him, very much. I actually-"

"No, no, ya don't. Ya care about all of us, even Murderface. I wanna know the whole truth."

Pickles couldn't actually make the CFO tell him anything, but Charles was pretty clearly looking for someone to speak to on the subject. He looked very stressed and concerned, in a way even Ofdensen usually did not, and Pickles guessed that the whole thing had been taking its toll on him. He already knew Charles had a thing for Nathan; the question was, what level was he on?

"I- don't wish to put it into words. It's complex. May we just leave it at that? You're clearly already far more aware of what I'm feeling than you should have been, I'm not really comfortable with this."

"Do ya wanna be with him?"

"Yes!" Charles snapped, waving an arm at Pickles irritably. "But I hardly see how it's important as he is not only my client but straight. In case you were unaware. So may we stop this and get to why I actually came here?"

Pickles processed his reaction. If he was that upset, Charles was probably knee-deep in a sucking tar pit of infatuation by this point; the man rarely let his emotions go like that. He decided not to push it - he already had his answer. "Sher. Whaddaya need?"

"Nathan appears to be so drunk or otherwise intoxicated that he won't be roused from sleep. He looks very uncomfortable. I'd like you to keep an eye on him, as I..." Charles looked away a bit, embarrassed. "Really don't have the self control to be there right now."

Grinning widely, Pickles gave Charles a crooked thumbs-up. "Sher, chief. Go beck to bed. I'll watch the big guy an' make sher he's okee when he gets up. Prahbly took some sleep meds or somethin'. Don't worry about it."

Nearly blushing, Charles nodded gratefully. "Thanks, Pickles. I, ah, I'll speak with you tomorrow then."

"Okee," the drummer agreed, stepping aside to let Charles leave. "How about we go drinkin' with the guys tamarrow? Ya don't hafta get too drenk, but ya should spend some time around the guys. We'd like ya there, yer fun."

Charles was baffled, but nodded. "All right. If that's what you'd like."

"Yeeuh. Later, den," Pickles confirmed, leaving his own room and setting off towards Nathan's. The CFO went down another hall, silent and confused, wondering what on earth he was going to do art a bar with the boys. Maybe Nathan would be so drunk he wouldn't remember Charles was there, and he could slip away from the band and back to the house unnoticed. After all, it wouldn't be the first time he went home alone.

Or the last.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mental and physical workout.

Nathan woke blearily the next day, feeling like his limbs were made of lead. He made a mental note to only take one pill in the future, and rolled over with a groan. Briefly, he considered going back to sleep, residually tired as he was, but this was interrupted when he saw Pickles.

"Hey." The drummer twitched, sitting up in a chair and dead asleep. What the hell was he doing there? 

"HEY."

Scowling, Nathan grabbed a pillow and tossed it at Pickles' head. It hit its mark and woke his friend up with a sputter. "Ah, feck, whet already? Ah'm jest restin' my eyes."

"What the fuck are you doing in my bedroom," Nathan said, more a statement than a real question; knowing Pickles, he could have gotten drunk and just wandered in for no reason. He wouldn't be surprised, and it wasn't like it mattered. 

Pickles shrugged. "Ahfdensen came lookin' fer ya. He said ya wouldn't wake up and I should keep an eye on ya. Did ya take somethin?"

"Yeah, some of the shit you, uh, gave me a while ago. Um. Charles was here?"

"Yeeuh."

Well, that didn't tell him much. "Why?"

"Dunno. Nat my business."

Nathan recalled that Charles often checked on them during the night to make sure they were alive. That must have been all it was. He sighed and rolled over onto his back again, wishing he'd been awake for that. Maybe it was best he hadn't been, though. He looked up and saw Pickles studying him sleepily. "Hm."

"Ya okee there, big guy?"

"Fine. Yeah. Whatever."

"Ah, c'man. Yer pritty transparent right now, jest give it up an' talk ta me."

What Pickles wanted to do was just tell Nathan to go and talk to Ofdensen about how he felt. That there was an opportunity there for him if he had the balls to chase after it. But even though he wanted to do that, he knew it wasn't his place. Both men trusted him not to interfere with the other on their behalf, not to give up their secret, and he was stuck in a place where it was very confusing to be him. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking at Nathan's stubborn expression. 

"I said I'm fine. I'm fine. Seriously."

"Awreet," Pickles said, giving up and making for the door. "By the way, we're goin' out tanight. Whole beand, and Ahfdensen."

"What?"

"To a bar. Ya know, nothin' unusual."

Nathan watched him incredulously; Pickles just winked and left the room. 

Going to a fucking bar with Charles? Yeah, that was what he needed, to have to watch his ass around the guys. There was no way he could check his behavior around Charles that easily without them noticing, and he wasn't comfortable putting himself on the spot like that. Didn't Pickles see that? 

He scratched at the back of his neck absently, feeling nervous. It was nothing bad that he got to drink, because god knew he needed it then more than he ever had, but he just wasn't sure about lowering his inhibitions around Charles. What if he did something stupid? What if he did something worse than stupid? 

"Ugh," he said to his room at large, deciding that staying in bed would be the best course of action. He had a whole day to kill before he would be putting his self control to the test, and the last thing he wanted was to test it before then by running into Charles. Nathan burrowed under his covers irritably, trying to cast out mental images of his manager in varying states of undress. 

It wasn't working. If he stayed in bed like he planned, he'd just end up fantasizing about Charles all day long, which wouldn't help him later. Nathan got out of bed and stalked into the hallway, intending to find Toki and bullshit with him for a few hours. There had to be a way to kill time, it was his house and he'd figure something out. 

He swung by Toki's bedroom, finding it empty. Skwisgaar's was next, where the haughty guitarist told him Toki was in the gym, "practisings his ladies' ballets." Nathan took this to mean that Toki was working out, something Skwisgaar was apparently incapable of doing. He shrugged to himself as he thought about the rivalry between the two guitarists, and wondered if Skwisgaar was jealous of Toki... or just admiring him? Nowadays neither one would surprise him.

Nathan began the walk across his enormous house, hoping Toki didn't leave before he managed to get there. Not as if he had anything better to do... just killing time until that evening, trying not to think about it. It seemed a little futile, since all he'd done since seeking a distraction was think about exactly that. 

How was he going to get through that night?

The main concern was self control. With the state of his mind at that moment, adding alcohol in the presence of Charles would almost certainly lead to a mistake being made. He wouldn't be able to hold back anymore, and Nathan just couldn't allow that. Still, if he didn't drink then everyone would suspect something was wrong. He had to have something to maintain appearances...

Why the fuck would Pickles put him in this position? He knew how hard this was for him! Couldn't he just call off the night, or tell the others that Nathan had somewhere else to be? It wasn't an option to just not bring Charles, because the one who needed the most reassurance of his worth was by far their manager. Nathan, on the other hand, might be able to weasel out of it. But then, what if the guys were dicks to Charles, and nobody was there to notice that he wasn't really a robot after all? They could be pretty callous, especially drunk... and Charles would just sit there and take it like he always did. Someone had to keep an eye on him and make sure he was happy. 

Fuck. That meant he had to go. 

Nathan grit his teeth in frustration, momentarily distracted by the fact that he'd reached the gym. He flung open the door and slouched inside, feeling especially demoralized, but did not see Toki anywhere. There was someone in the far corner doing pushups, but Nathan couldn't imagine who else at Mordhaus would be exercising at all. Unless...

"Oh, fuck me," Nathan muttered under his breath, taking in the sight of Charles obliviously going through some kind of workout. The manager finished a final pushup and rolled onto his back loosely, panting heavily enough for Nathan to see it across the room. He felt like a voyeur watching the other man without announcing himself, and cleared his throat as he approached. If he left without saying anything Charles would think he was a dick.

"Nathan?"

Charles was flat on his back, lacking the energy to lift his head as the singer approached. That could only be one person's deep, rumbling cough, though, and he didn't need visual confirmation. Almost too tired to be self-conscious about how dressed down he was - recalling the large shirt incident and deciding it was duly unimportant - Charles focused on getting his breath back. That had been an even three-hundred he'd completed before Nathan had shown up, and his throat was burning from repeatedly sucking in air, his arms aching. It was something he just did, but it was never any easier on his punished limbs. Physically it paid for itself. 

"What're you, uh, doing in here?" Nathan asked, cursing himself for the stupid question. Obviously, Charles was doing pushups. "Nevermind. Dumb question."

"Then... may I ask you what... you're doing here?" Charles panted heavily, turning his head against the floor mat. He felt beaten, but knew it would pass. In the meantime, he hoped he wasn't too disheveled.

"Lookin' for Toki... Just kind of bored." Nathan shrugged, trying not to watch the rivulets of sweat trickling down Charles' chest and over his sides. The manager's chest was outlined through the damp undershirt he wore, cloth clinging to the body he obviously worked hard to maintain, and Nathan was having difficulty ignoring it. "How long have you been in here?"

Charles tried to shrug in turn, but didn't have the energy yet. "A while. Lifted... some weights. Ran... on the... treadmill. And did..."

"Pushups," Nathan supplied. "I saw that. You're gonna die in here if you don't get the fuck out and take a break."

"Pass me my water," he managed, reaching out with one exhausted arm for a bottle sitting on the weight bench. Nathan grabbed it and handed it down to him, watching with one eyebrow raised as he gulped desperately. It almost hurt as badly to drink such cold water as it did to breathe, his throat was so dry, but he knew he needed the liquid after that workout. He shot Nathan a look to rival the one he was receiving and put the bottle down for a moment. 

"I'm fine... I assure you."

"You look like you got beaten up by Thor," Nathan argued. He suppressed a dirty grin at how Charles looked, flushed from exertion and barely able to move. It was a damn good look, one he wished he could see more frequently - but that wasn't going to help his predicament at all, and he tried to push the thought to the back of his mind. "You're done here."

"Am I?" Truth be told, he absolutely was done, but Nathan's authoritative tone was something he couldn't help but challenge. With anyone else it would be laughable, but when it was the big singer looking at him that way, saying it with that tone, he wanted to be contrary just for the hell of it. He wanted to play. 

Nathan reached out and dragged Charles into a sitting position, then forced him further, making him lurch to his feet unsteadily. "Yeah. Come on, before you break something."

Sighing heavily, breath still not quite caught up to, Charles closed his eyes and rolled his head on his shoulders. The burn in his muscles told him he'd regret this session the next day, but for the time being he felt like he'd done his part in staying healthy. With his eyes shut, he missed the hungry look Nathan gave him, watching him stretch his pale neck to one side. The frontman clenched his teeth and recited some lyrics in his head, trying to focus on anything else. 

"Right, I suppose I am finished here anyway," he agreed, not technically yielding to Nathan's will since he lacked the ability to press on regardless. Charles picked up the large water bottle and draped a damp towel around his neck, gesturing for Nathan to come with him as he left the gym. Nathan shrugged in the way he tended to do, not really sure of what the hell he was going to do. He'd gone out looking for a distraction and run into the exact delicious, sweaty preoccupation he'd meant to escape. 

Pretty typical Nathan Explosion luck, he thought. Whatever can go wrong, will give you a hard on. 

"Pickles, uh, said we're going out tonight. Like, everybody."

Charles hesitated in his walking for just a moment, having forgotten this nagging detail in his schedule. It had been the reason he'd retreated to the gym for a distraction in the first place, seeking something to reliably take his mind off of the coming stressful night of acting straight around the boys while intoxicated. Pickles expected him to be there, and would doubtlessly locate him and drag him along if he tried to resist. There was only so much harassment he'd take before giving in to the drummer's good-hearted bitching, so he knew it was futile to try and get out of it. 

He nodded uncomfortably, trying to keep that out of his voice. "Yes, Pickles did mention that to me as well. It should be fun," Charles suggested, not believing a word of that sentiment. 

Frustrated by his own hesitance, Nathan forced himself to relax enough to carry on some more friendly and casual conversation. That's what they were, friends. He should be able to just talk to Charles. "I'll lay twenty bucks that Murderface passes out drunk before anyone else does."

"Oh, but that's cheating, you're always the one who forces him to drink so much. It's rigged."

"Not my fault he's insecure. Take the bet."

Charles laughed. "Certainly not. I don't gamble."

"That's no fun." Feeling a little more natural, Nathan gave him a playful shove on the shoulder as they walked - where? To Charles' office? Nathan realized that had to be where they were headed - down the main hallway. The smaller man pushed him back, but after that exhausting session in the gym he lacked the reflexes to pull back. Charles stumbled into Nathan, who was already off balance and in turn stumbled into the wall. He steadied Charles automatically, clutching him to his chest. 

Over the edges of his glasses, his manager peered up at him with the most kissable of expressions. That thought got far enough in his mind that he was unwilling to follow it any further. Nathan released him, clearing his throat apologetically, and Charles stepped back a few inches. He looked embarrassed, though Nathan wasn't sure why... it was he who had started the shoving fight, not Charles. It was always him who started these awkward situations. Fucking clumsy, he chided himself. 

Charles motioned for Nathan to keep walking, secretly hating himself for not having the balls to just kiss him when he had opportunities like that. His resolve from the previous night had faded entirely, and he didn't have the confidence he'd mustered up at all. It was like fate was laughing at him, if he'd believed in such things. He looked up when Nathan made a pointed sound for his attention.

"Sorry, uh, shoulda figured you'd be... too tired for that bullshit."

"I don't mind, honestly. But I am quite exhausted all the same."

Nathan frowned. "Don't overdo it. Too much of, yknow, a good thing... is... not a good thing. Or whatever."

"Oh, I can take it," Charles said dismissively, stopping at his office door and bending back to stretch his spine. Watching shamelessly while his manager's eyes were shut in focus, Nathan felt the twisting hunger in the pit of his stomach getting more tangled by the second. It may have been a man's body, something he just wasn't used to ogling, but there was no way to deny that it was fantastic. Every unusually visible inch of Charles seemed toned and perfect to Nathan's eyes, and the stretching was just unfair to behold. He shook his head as Charles straightened properly and unlocked his office door. 

Now that he was so close to a hot shower and a soft bed, Charles felt even more drained than he had in the gym. This was sure to knock him on his ass until later that night, which suited him fine. Distantly he registered that Nathan had followed him, uncertainly, through his office and into his rooms; probably just wandering after him without a goal in mind, he decided. Though Charles dearly wanted to invite Nathan into the shower, he decided that was probably an awful idea and went in alone. What the singer would do in the meantime, he had no idea, but it was more or less out of his hands. 

Nathan stood like a lost kitten in the living room. 

He figured Charles was taking a shower, given how noticeably drenched in sweat he had been; it didn't take a genius to figure that one out. What he didn't know was what he was meant to do in the meantime. Did Charles want him to wait there? Did he want him to leave so he could relax? Did he want him to fuck off and let him get some work done? Nathan ground his teeth to one side and decided to wait, taking a seat on the couch and feeling incredibly awkward. 

Just a good... four or five hours, he guessed, to pass before Pickles would be rounding them up for the bar. As much as he did want to spend those hours bothering Charles and stopping him from getting any work done, it was probably an awful idea. He'd need a lot of space to prepare for being crammed next to Charles, drunk, into a car after a tense night with the guys. Never before had he been so worried about a simple night at a bar. 

A strange noise made him twitch in his seat, but he realized it was only the shower kicking on. He'd been right; now he just had to wait for Charles to finish, and try not to think about what was going on in the next room. Try not to think about anything at all - not that night, or the present. Just blank out your mind, he thought. Think about kitties...

Nathan put his head back against the sofa cushions, and promptly fell asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and company go out for a night of drinking.

It had been getting dark out when Nathan was roused from his unintentional nap, slumped sideways on Charles' little couch like a homeless guy on a sidewalk. He felt stupid for falling asleep there, and a little embarrassed that Charles had seen him asleep despite it not being nearly the first time it had happened. Still, there were more pressing issues at hand, such as Pickles standing before him with a dressed and reluctant-looking manager at his side, demanding that Nathan rise and accompany them to the bar. He had forgotten, in his sleepy euphoria, what he had been dreading all that day. Now it was time, and he couldn't back out without raising suspicions.

He went without a fight.

Hours into the night, Nathan was hunched over at the bar, far away from the rest of the band. He couldn't take the stress of sitting near Charles any longer, or near Pickles with his offhanded and sneaky comments. No more hints to be dropped, no more half telling him to take a chance. He couldn't handle it. It had been fucking stupid of him to come out that night anyway, knowing it would be just like this. God, what the hell had he been thinking?

His drink looked bottomless to him, and he gulped it back in a long swallow. One hand gestured for another and was quickly appeased by the bartender. More alcohol meant less thinking about what was sitting across the bar from him, that example of what he had been missing for years. Charles was probably having a great time over there, palling around and getting sloppy, which was what Nathan himself had been expected to do. He knew he was endangering his cover with the guys by sitting by himself, but he didn't care anymore. Fuck what they thought, fuck all of them if they thought any less of him for wanting his privacy. They weren't supposed to care anyway, dammit. Neither was he... but as he'd told himself a week ago and a thousand times since then, Charles wasn't part of the band. He didn't fit into that little agreement, and Nathan couldn't package his feelings for the man away behind it. Not like he hid his concerns for Toki's drinking, or Skwisgaar's loneliness, or Pickles' substance abuse and crazy brother, or Murderface's EVERYTHING. Yeah, he fucking cared, but they never had to know.

Thinking about it then, as he had been doing on and off, it seemed suddenly unfair that he should have to hide it. He could care about whoever the fuck he wanted. If he wanted to care about Charles, what the fuck was stopping him? The guys would get over it, they had a band to run and none of them would be stupid enough to break up Dethklok over something like that. Charles... couldn't be as disinterested as Nathan thought he was. Surely, like Pickles had said... surely there was a chance, right? The drink in his hand and the six others in his stomach told him yes, there had to be. There had to be a chance, so what was stopping him from taking it?

Just himself.

He took another swallow from his beer and cast a glance over his shoulder at the booth where his band was sitting. Charles was on the outside, Pickles on his left, with his back to Nathan. He was glad, because then the man wouldn't catch him staring. That would have been embarrassing. Inside that booth, Toki did notice Nathan's wayward gaze, and commented on it to Pickles.

"Nathans sure doesn't look happy. What's he doings over theres, all alones? What's wrongs wit him?"

Pickles raised an eyebrow and looked back at Nathan questioningly. Caught, the singer turned around, but not before Pickles caught the longing expression on his face. Fuck, that guy was in it so deep. There had to be something he could do to get Nathan back over to the booth, but he couldn't think of anything.

"Maybe he ams just wantings some comps-any," Skwisgaar suggested, giving Toki a knowing look. "You knows, wit a ladies. I haven't seens him with groupies in a longs time."

Charles shrugged miserably. "I'm sure Nathan can get whoever and whatever he wants at whatever time he desires it. I somehow doubt that's the problem."

"Hey," Pickles argued, slinging an arm around the manager and noting how he slumped over the table sadly. "Give tha guy some credit, awreet? He's gat more to him than that. Why don'tcha ask him whet's up? I bet yer nat even thinkin' of whatever the real prahblem is."

"It's none of my business. And I hardly think I'm incapable of understanding loneliness, so even if that is the problem, I daresay I have more experience with the subject than the lead singer of the most popular band in the world."

"Point," the drummer conceded, having another shot. God, Ofdensen could depress anybody.

"What's you lonelies for?" Toki asked, slurring a little bit on the third word. Charles wondered how much he had drunk that night, and decided he himself had consumed enough to not be in charge of that. He shook his head.

"Well, Toki, I've spent the last several years of my life taking care of you all. I don't have the luxury of company, and you may (probably not, his thoughts interjected silently) have noticed that I have never once had a visitor at Mordhaus. It comes with the job description."

A long silence fell over the table as Murderface, Toki and Skwisgaar processed this. Pickles just had yet another shot, knowing the story and not wishing to relive it too much. As someone who went to great lengths to be as happy as possible whenever he could, Charles' shut-in and repressed life made him hurt inside - especially since he did it all in the name of keeping THEM happy instead.

"But, like," Murderface began, trying to phrase a question. "Not even onsche? No ladiesch or anything? It'sch been yearsch schinsche we got famousch, you scheriouschly mean...?"

"It's the price of success, William," Charles said without any trace of satisfaction, and downed the rest of his drink. Even Murderface didn't have a comeback for that one, and stayed silent.

Skwisgaar was the next to speak, sounding a little less entitled than he normally would. "Ams you not wantings... company? Gots to get pretty bads, beings on yous own. And we am nots help you there. Always... too busy. Withs ourselves."

"I told you, though the sentiment is appreciated, I can't afford to let outsiders near the information and access I have to your security and assets. It's too dangerous. As long as I remain in this position I just can't do that."

"But yous gots to be happy!" Toki argued, looking distressed. "That's not fairs!"

"Life isn't fair," Charles shot back bitterly. He hadn't meant to, but he was drunk and angry at the world. Toki would probably understand... or forget by the time he woke up the next morning.

Pickles rubbed the bridge of his nose. This wasn't going anywhere good, he'd never seen Charles so openly unhappy before. "Whet do ya want, then? Frahm a relationship? I mean if ya could have somethin' what would it be, ideally?"

He didn't see why Pickles was asking him, since the answer seemed pointless, but Charles tried to think of a reply anyway. He began with "Well," but had to think further in order to continue. Thinking, of course, involved drinking more.

"I'd like to not have to worry about security. I don't want to have to wonder if they're with me for the money I make or the position I hold, or in order to get close to you boys for any reason. I can never be sure if someone likes me for who I am, or for the convenience being close to me would supply, so I can't ever have that. I just want to be..." he trailed off, needing the best way to phrase that.

Across the bar, Nathan was done talking to himself in his head. He had reached a conclusion, and was now struggling with a way to manifest it in real life. Slowly he finished the remainder of his beer and pushed the glass back on the bar. It may have taken him long enough to make a decision, but when he did make one he always stuck by it. He'd thought about it and thought about it, night after night, hour after hour, and there was only one thing - at that moment - that he could imagine doing to put an end to the insufferable bullshit he was experiencing.

Nathan stood up.

"I just want to be loved for the person I am, and fuck the rest," Charles was finishing as he approached, and Nathan thought that was just as well. It would have been rude to interrupt him in the middle of a sentence. He tapped the manager on his shoulder, and as Charles turned around, Nathan leaned down and pressed a very decisive kiss against the man's mouth.

The bar blurred away, leaving Charles dazed with the reality of what was happening. Was it really happening? Was he losing his fucking mind?

Then it was over, the shock ringing in his ears as Nathan walked away from the table and out of the bar altogether. Nobody said anything, though he knew the rest of the boys were looking to him for some type of explanation, and all he could do was sit there with his tingling mouth open, dumbfounded.

Had he... just...

What...

Pickles shoved him harshly. "Whet the feck are ya WAITIN' fer, Charlie? GO AFTER HIM!"

Shaking his head and not bothering to address the other stunned musicians, Charles flung himself clumsily - oh, god, he was drunk, he had forgotten - out of the booth and towards the door.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation.

Charles burst out of the bar, chasing Nathan, and saw the car they had arrived in already driving off down the road. He swore to himself and pulled out his cell, having to focus hard on what he wanted to do with it. Of all the times for him to be incapable of driving, it had to be now? Perfect.

He hurriedly demanded another car, and sat down on the curb to think while he waited. This was huge. What he'd spent the last week - and secretly longer, it was true - suppressing and ignoring, now being thrown back in his face to show him what an idiot he had been. All this time he had been worried for nothing, and it was only fitting punishment that now he had to wait for his opportunity to follow Nathan's cue. Hesitation be damned, that had been undeniable permission.

Where the fuck was that car? Couldn't they come any faster?

Flipping his cell open and shut impatiently, he tried and failed to think of a plan. Finding Nathan in the Haus would be easy - there were only a few places the singer even knew how to get to in the massive building - but talking to him would be another matter entirely. He knew Nathan withdrew easily, particularly out of his element, and if Charles didn't get there before he put up his defenses there would be nothing he could do.

A black vehicle slid up to the curb and he lunged for the door, throwing himself inside and directing the driver back to Mordhaus. His head ached, concentration and flurry mixed with too much alcohol, but he knew there would be no time to suffer through inebriation when he got home. He had to find Nathan. Charles laid his head back against the top of the seat, wanting only one thing more than he desperately wanted to go to bed. The night had taken a turn for the unexpected and he felt uncharacteristically out of his depth.

God, what the hell was going on?

Nathan had sprawled himself across his bed, feeling particularly at a loss. He had finally done something, so he no longer ached with frustrating inaction, but it had been a very risky and public something. Now he would have no choice but to explain things to the guys, and that would be even more difficult if Charles didn't harbor similar feelings for him. Part of his brain told him for the thousandth time to give up, but he was too drunk to listen to it. No, he would wait there until Charles came home, and then...he would do something else. He wasn't really sure what; his capacity for planning ahead had been all used up back at the bar.

He sat up when he heard a door open, and saw Charles standing in the doorway. The manager was flushed, swaying slightly and looked completely at a loss, but the fact remained that he was there, and Nathan decided that was a good sign.

"Uh," he said by way of greeting. "Yeah."

Charles leaned his back against the doorframe and took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. All the thinking he'd done on the subject didn't change the fact that words now eluded him, and all he could think was that giving in earlier would have saved him a lot of trouble in the first place. Finally, he said the only word he could process saying.

"Why?"

"Why... what?"

God, this would be easier if I weren't so drunk, Charles thought irritably. He couldn't keep his head straight. "Why me?"

Nathan shrugged. "You tell me. I didn't, uh, choose this."

"What exactly is 'this' anyway? I just want to know what I'm dealing with here."

"Fuck, I don't know. You're the one who figures shit out. I'm just... feeling things. You can give them a name if you want, I don't give a damn."

Charles put his glasses back on and crossed his arms, looking at Nathan over the frames. "You kissed me."

"Yeah, I figured that was what you wanted to talk about. We could talk about the weather instead but it's kind of fucking dark outside."

"Hey," Charles complained, "don't give me that. You're the one who --"

"Who WHAT, I --"

"-- just kissed me and then left me there like I wasn't supposed to give a fuck!" he finished, waving his arms at the singer in frustration. "I had to chase you back here just to get a word in! That's not fair!"

Nathan frowned. "Wait, so... you're not angry?"

"Why would I be?!"

"I... dunno, I..." Processing the look on Charles' face - one of complete confusion - Nathan put his head in his hands to figure it out. He wasn't being rejected, or scolded, or anything like that at all. Charles seemed only upset because he had left, not because he had kissed him. This was too good to be true. Maybe he had fallen asleep and was dreaming, now?

He looked up hopefully and found Charles staring at him, waiting for some kind of response.

Nathan responded.

Charles' back hit the wall with a thump, so hard that he bounced. It was all so jarring, physically, mentally, that he couldn't believe he was even still standing. Nathan's mouth was on his, a furious sense of relief and cloistered desire washing over him as if their minds were touching as well as their bodies. Perhaps it was the alcohol, and perhaps not, but it was hyper-real, more than he could and had ever imagined, and it completely bowled him over.

A slide of unfamiliar teeth over a tender bottom lip, already bitten too many times to hold back a tender word in the course of the night. Nathan was speaking volumes with a wordless twist of his tongue. Nothing could possibly be enough to give life to his emotions, and though it frustrated him he reveled in it. Everything about the futility of expressing his desires was exhilarating, compelling to him in just the way that Charles was.

The most indescribable feeling swept over Charles' body, washing away his mind and sinking into his skin, settling on him like a hot towel until he knew nothing else. His skin flushed with sensation, his mind reeling, he pushed back at Nathan with enough force to topple him onto the bed.

"Fuck," Nathan said breathlessly as the smaller man climbed atop him, and brought his hands up to run them over that lithe body. There was too much for him to touch and he couldn't make up his mind, all of Charles so warm and firm, exactly as he had imagined.

Too hurried by the release of his pent-up lust, Charles only fought Nathan's clothing momentarily before seizing his shirt by the neck and ripping it down the center. He didn't have time to actually undress the other man, and though surprised, Nathan did not argue. A low groan vibrated through that broad chest as Charles brought his mouth down on the singer's collarbone.

Nathan slid his hands up to Charles' shoulders and directed the man's attention away from his own body, a question looming in his head. He could barely form words at first, due to both arousal and embarrassment, but out of sheer need he managed, "Can we... uh...?"

"Yes," Charles said, baffled by the need to even ask. Of fucking course, he thought, and sat up to straddle Nathan and undo his own shirt. There were benefits to patience and slow ministrations, but he had waited too long for this to happen; he shrugged off the shirt and reached meaningfully for the singer's zipper. Nathan pushed Charles off of him and made to remove his own clothing, gesturing for the smaller man to do the same. In his drunken, pent-up hurry, Charles tripped over his pants and fell on his face, but there was no time to consider his dignity. No sooner had he stood than he found himself on his back on the bed, wrists pinned and a very welcome weight pressing him into the duvet.

"Problem," Nathan muttered, teeth grazing none too gently across Charles' neck and making him squirm. "I don't know what to do."

Oh, of course, Charles thought distantly. He's used to women. In that moment of relatively clear thought, Charles realized he had nowhere near the patience or coordination to properly revive his sex life that night. They could wing it but that would hurt, and in a big way. He grit his teeth in irritation and gave Nathan a greedy kiss, then freed his hands and motioned for Nathan to return to the bed. Puzzled, the singer did so, looking impatient. "What?"

"There's a lot I want to do with you," Charles began, climbing atop Nathan again and staring down at him with barely contained if drunken lust, "but I'm not really functioning right now and I don't want to go into what happens if we do this wrong. It won't involve a lot of sitting on my part-" he noted the frontman's comprehending wince "- so I have a solution until more sober hours."

Grinning, Charles lowered his face to Nathan's neck and kissed it, biting just a little, before sliding himself down and off of the bed. Nathan's head was cluttered with thoughts of how soft Charles seemed, not in a feminine way but in his own way altogether, and so he initially didn't realize what Charles' backup plan was. The sudden sensation of a tongue on his cock brought him fully back to earth with a groan.

"Hopefully this is acceptable," his manager laughed from below, knowing full well that it was.

Reality fell on Nathan's head, his inebriation and arousal pushing away every bit of sense he had... which had never been a lot to start with. His hand found its way down to the back of Charles' neck, distantly hoping he didn't make the man choke. On the contrary, Charles took this encouragement for what it was, and pushed past his gag reflex to coax another groan from the lead singer.

It was better than what he'd imagined in the shower; volumes so, since he was allowing himself to really enjoy it. He struggled not to finish too quickly, feeling a brief rush of embarrassment as he felt himself drunkenly losing the fight, but Charles' typically sharp tongue was hopelessly drawing the orgasm out of him. Nathan wanted to signal somehow, to get him to slow down before it was too late.

"Wait --"

Charles looked up at him with big hazel eyes over the rims of his glasses, mouth still wrapped seductively around the frontman's dick, and completely destroyed Nathan's resolve. He came without a second thought, and if he could have spared a moment he would have thought his manager took the load admirably, considering. A shiver tickled his spine, and he opened his eyes - when had he closed them? He had been watching Charles so intently - to see the other man covering him from the waist down with his own sheet. Always taking care of his boys, Nathan thought in amusement.

"I, uh," he said, shy again and feeling his nakedness in spades. "That was..."

Grinning crookedly, Charles planted a comparatively tame kiss on Nathan's lips and deftly rolled over the larger man to the other side of the bed. "You can return the favor in the morning if you're feeling bold enough. How's that?"

Nathan turned pink, but readily agreed. "I, yeah, that... Absolutely." He was treated to one last flash of that grin as Charles reached across him to put his glasses on the nightstand, before his manager stretched out at his side for the night. Post-orgasm daze pushed him into unconsciousness,and before he fell asleep he thought that he'd never been so happy to be wrong.

A few hours later, Pickles could be seen cackling in delight in the hot tub, though he refused to explain why.


End file.
